


Caging the Beast

by Vulcanmi



Series: What Ifs [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, M/M, Manipulative Will, Murder Family, Oblivious Will, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulcanmi/pseuds/Vulcanmi
Summary: It wasn't sustainable. Maybe it could be.





	1. Deciding

**Author's Note:**

> This has been freshly edited! I took chapter 15 and added it to the end of chapter 14, because it really didn't need to be it's own chapter, and I like the number 15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a mess. I can't stop writing about these two. Taking some liberties about the end of season 2, for example, in this the FBI doesn't know about Jack and Will's plan.
> 
> The beginning is taken directly from season 2 episode 13, Mizumono. The scene that inspired this fic and one I love.
> 
> Please, enjoy.

"We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs. Leave a note for Alana and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

Will Graham stared at the man sitting next to him at the dining room table, and two thoughts ran through his head. The first was: _what would life be like once Hannibal was in jail?_ The second: _holy shit, Hannibal wants to run away with me._

They’d talked about it already, of course. Burned any lingering evidence of Hannibal’s manipulations in the man’s office. Will had been playing this game for so long, it would have been impossible for him not to understand the end result. Sitting at Hannibal’s dinner table for what he knew would be his last pleasant meal, Will could feel the weight of the decision on his shoulders.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear Hannibal could feel it too. There was something in the way Hannibal’s sharp gaze remained staring at his food, rather than at Will, the way he meandered around a conversation, the way long drops of silence had fallen into their pool of time together more often than their usual verbal sparring.

Maybe Hannibal did know. Maybe that was why it was so hard to look at the man. It was getting harder to keep up the facade. He felt tired. If all went well Hannibal would be in jail, and that would be the end of it all. His future victims would be spared, and he'd rot away under the care of Frederick Chilton.

Realizing he was staring, Will forced himself to reply. “Then this would be our last supper,” he tried to joke, but Hannibal didn’t react save for looking away again.

“Of this life. I served lamb.”

Will struggled to keep a blank face. He only had to keep up the facade a little longer, but it was times like this when it was the hardest. Directly speaking through what they’d only tried speaking around, before. “Sacrificial?” Will asked, mostly just to keep Hannibal talking.

There was a brief pause. They still weren’t looking at each other. “I don’t need a sacrifice,” Hannibal said, and Will found that hard to believe. The something, though, something in Hannibal’s tone. It continued to elude him. “Do you?”

It was his move. Hannibal wanted to change the game, but Will had come too far to let that happen. “I need him to know,” he said, brow furrowing. “If I confessed to Jack Crawford right now…”

“I would forgive you.”

It clicked. Will turned, slowly, finally letting his eyes see Hannibal. He could see.

“If Jack were to tell you all is forgiven,” Hannibal went on, looking at him now, too. “Would you accept his forgiveness?”

He could see. Hannibal wanted them to start a new life. Together. Hannibal wanted. This game they were in was single player. Hannibal saw in him an equal. The potential for friendship like he'd never had before. Hannibal wanted. Hannibal shouldn’t have been capable of so innocent an emotion. He was a psychopath, pure and simple. Hannibal was capable of closing himself off, pretending to feel without really feeling, and good enough at it to fool someone with an empathy disorder. What did he feel that was genuine? Will struggled to respond, eyes searching, sifting through everything Hannibal said with a look. “Jack isn’t offering forgiveness.” His voice came out as nearly a whisper. “He wants justice. He wants to see you. See who you are.” He trailed off, feeling disarmed. Unprepared.

Did Hannibal know?

Something that felt a lot like guilt started to pool at the base of his spine, curling upwards and straightening lines of tension into his shoulders. Will gathered himself, forcing his voice out stronger. “See what I’ve become.” He took in a breath, wetting his lips. He needed to focus. Hannibal could smell weakness. Quite possibly literally. “He wants the truth.”

Will managed a small smile, but Hannibal didn’t return it, instead staying quiet, and staring. A stare so unlike his usual. This one seemed almost vulnerable. The set of his mouth in a light frown. Eyes hooded. Will struggled for long seconds not to look away, but in the end Hannibal did first.

“To the truth, then.” Hannibal turned his head back, but his eyes didn’t rise. “And all it’s consequences.”

A shudder ran down Will’s spine, and he looked back to his food.

They didn’t speak the rest of dinner.

Why did Hannibal have to be so damn sincere? Why show vulnerability now, when everything would be over soon?

Why did Will care so much?

Hannibal was dangerous. If he suspected something, it could ruin their plans, and end up with him and Jack both dead. That wasn’t the reason though, and Will found it hard to admit, even to the sanctum of his mind.

Hannibal was his friend. And part of him wanted to take Hannibal’s almost polite answer, and leave with him.

Will went to the bathroom before he had to leave, staring at his face in the mirror once he’d shut the door behind him. ‘Neither of us ideal’ indeed.

What would a world be like, where Hannibal Lecter was not a murdering cannibal? A world where he didn’t use his strong, deft fingers to kill, and rend, and create such beauty. Where their understanding of one another, their interest, came from places that weren’t so dark and disturbed. Where he could smile at the man without feeling like a monster.

“Not the same,” Will decided.

When he exited the bathroom, Hannibal was in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes. He stopped inside, unsure if he should offer to help, or feign tiredness.

Hannibal did not turn to face him, and Will watched his shoulders as he worked.

“Will,” Hannibal said after neither of them spoke for too long, “you have had much to drink. Please, stay the night. I have a very comfortable guest bedroom with clean sheets.” He looked over his shoulder, but despite his friendly words the look on his face was grim. “Or you may make use of the couch, if you’d prefer.”

Will stared. He didn't know what Hannibal was doing. It wasn’t just a friendly gesture, not that easy, nothing ever was. “No, the dogs are probably getting restless. I should get back.”

Hannibal tipped his head, accepting the excuse. He turned back around, and Will suddenly regretted the decision. “Very well. Drive safely. I’d walk you to the door, but I’m afraid my hands are rather occupied.”

Hannibal had a dishwasher in perfect working condition.

“Goodnight,” Will said, to prolong the moment.

“Goodnight, Will.”

Will waited, but Hannibal did not turn back around.

On the drive home, two thoughts ran through Will’s head. One was: I think Hannibal’s mad at me. The other: I can’t go through with this. No, he realized- he didn’t want to go through with it.

It was supposed to be easy. Gain Hannibal’s trust, pretend there was a darkness inside him to cultivate. Easy, because he didn’t have to pretend, not really. The hard part was supposed to be ignoring the contempt he had felt, not pulling the trigger, not just ridding the world of Hannibal Lecter once and for all, deciding to deal with him the just, noble way. At some point that had changed.

Will's fingers danced along the steering wheel as anxiety danced along his spine. He should have given Hannibal up to Mason Verger when he had the chance. There would have been minimal consequence from Jack. That would have been the smart thing to do, if not the right. The longer he was with Hannibal the deeper he buried inside his head.

Hannibal didn’t play fair. Hannibal understood him in ways he barely understood himself. He was charming, witty, and the only person Will found himself looking in the eyes involuntarily. How couldn’t he? Everyone else, he saw too much. With Hannibal, it was too little. Seeing Hannibal was addictive. He was an excellent chef, passionate in the arts, he liked Will, maybe even more for his flaws, and he was a cannibalistic serial killer. Over the past weeks Will had found himself wondering countless times over the friendship they might have had, in a life where Hannibal wasn't so wrong.

For the first time, he wondered what sort of friendship they might have in this life.

  
The next morning, he drove to Jack’s office earlier than most people would even consider waking up. He wanted to be the first person Jack saw when he stepped in, he had to be. The details still weren't clear in his head. He'd barely slept the night before, was running on fumes, but that was hardly anything new. It was important though, important that he stop what he and Jack had set into motion. What the alternative was he didn't know.

“Jack,” Will said instead of a greeting, and then, “I’m calling it off.”

Jack, who was still in the middle of taking off his jacket, just stared. “Calling what off?”

“The dinner. It’s not going to work. The FBI is going to catch on, and it won’t be pretty when they do.” It’s the excuse he’d repeated to himself over and over again the night before, words he’d practically carved into his brain, and as he said them now they came out like hard truths, rather than desperate pleas. He mentally thanked Hannibal for drastically improving his acting ability. Then reminded himself that normal people didn’t thank their friends for putting them in jail, even in their heads.

Jack’s mouth straightened into a line. “Will,” he began, and Will dug his heels in, aware that he was in for a long match of tug of war. Thankfully, he'd had plenty of time to train the muscles needed for this particular game.

‘Enough of the metaphors’, he told himself, frowning.

“We both agreed this was the only way to catch him.”

“I know, and he’s given me nothing,” Will said, repeating words he’d used as an excuse before. “Yet.”

“Yet,” Jack repeated skeptically.

Will threw himself into his argument, hands tightening on his metaphorical rope. “Hannibal still trusts me. Let me do this. I can catch him. I can give you enough evidence to put him away for life, but you have to give me time.”

Jack finally shrugged off his jacket, tossing it at the back of his chair. He stalked behind his desk like some great predator, face screwed up into an ugly scowl. “What about Freddie Lounds? The country thinks she’s dead. And we can’t risk anyone else dying.”

“No,” Will agreed, trying not to do so too quickly. “No one dies.” Probably. Will didn’t bother pretending, even in his head, that he would be overly concerned if someone did. Particularly if that someone was Freddie Lounds, for real, this time (It takes one to catch one indeed).

“You can’t promise me that.”

He couldn’t. Will shook his head. “I can’t promise you anything. But what do you think Kade Prurnell is going to do when she finds out what I’ve done? What you sanctioned?” The threat was risky, considering how hard he'd tried to push Jack before. How badly he'd wanted this arrest. The desperation though, could also be used to his advantage. He needed to play himself like a man close to the edge, trying to be careful to climb down rather than fall.

Jack was silent for only a moment, and Will got the distinct impression the look he gave was supposed to say ‘you are the guilty party Graham don’t drag me into this’, but he expected that, and plowed ahead.

“They’ll arrest us both, and get a warrant to search Hannibal’s house. They’ll find nothing, because Hannibal is much too careful for that.” This part he talked through slowly, gaining confidence, because this was the argument he was counting on to sway Jack’s opinion. They had come too far for it to all end in vain, and if Hannibal didn't know of his betrayal now, he certainly would once he had agents rifling through his things.

The thought of Hannibal seeing through his deception, of the disappointment that would surely rest on his face, the hurt, was just a little too much to bear.

Will saw hesitance beginning to fill cracks in Jack’s ironclad mask, and Will licked the inside of his lips, going in for the kill.

“What would you rather have- me, able to keep a close eye on the Ripper, or us both in jail?”

Jack's mask shattered and the pieces fell, leaving nothing but a tired old man. Whereas normally his presence could fill an entire room, now he hardly looked like he could fill a closet. Will almost felt bad for causing the defeated look, The frustration projected inching towards his mind like cold tendrils. He looked away to avoid being tangled up in them.

“And Lounds?”

“Same plan, Jack, just a different ending. Hannibal doesn’t know, I can keep it that way.” Not forever, though. What would he say when the man eventually found out?

“…Fine,” Jack’s voice was rough, and he straightened again, starting to pick up the pieces of his mask. And hadn’t he said no more metaphors? “But I don’t want you to keep an eye on the Ripper, Will. I want you to put him on a leash.”

That was an interesting image, Hannibal on a leash. The picture filled his mind, the Chesapeake Ripper collared and gazing up at him from his knees, collar fitted neatly into a loop at his neck just like all of Will’s other strays. A tamed beast. Will thought he should snort at the thought, but instead he just felt a little warm, and vaguely uncomfortable, so he cleared his throat. “I’ll make it a tight one.”

“Stop extending my metaphors and get out of my office.” Jack sounded tired. Will resisted the urge to salute, suddenly feeling lighter. It worked. He had not been entirely sure it would.

“Sorry, metaphors are sort of a thing, right now.”

Jack stared at him.

Will nodded. “Morning, Jack. Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic probably won't be very long. Like last time I'm not entirely sure what will happen, all I know is there will be glorious Hannigram along the way and I just couldn't help myself. After a season 3 fic this was weird to be writing as if so much hadn't happened, but a lot of fun too.
> 
> I wrote 10,000 words straight without thinking about chapters, so sorry for the awkward break. Until next time!


	2. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will toes what little boundaries he and Hannibal have left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I envisioned this story so serious when I first started writing. I think all the humor my first fic wouldn't let me put in it is leaking through. 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments~!

Will sat in his car and stared at the steering wheel for the better part of the next hour. The extent of his plan had been ‘get Jack to call off dinner’. Now that he’d completed it, he was aware that he needed something more concrete. He didn’t even have an end goal.

The profiler tugged his cell phone from his pocket, staring at the black screen and wondering if maybe that wasn’t true. For some reason, the night he killed Randall Tier floated to the front of his mind. The way Hannibal’s face had appeared in place of a young, animalistic man, smirking and unafraid, how his fists had connected with bone until they were bloody and raw, and the body beneath him stopped moving.

Will inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

When he'd packed the body into his car and then broken into Hannibal’s Baltimore home, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Certainly not Hannibal taking the time to clean and bandage his knuckles, despite the fact that he’d been perfectly able to do it himself, despite the fact that they weren't even that bad. Hannibal had a god damn basin of water set out on the table, wiped at Will’s wounds so tenderly, no one ever would have guessed what those hands were capable of.

Will acknowledged he felt a sort of quiet power, then. Only elevated by the pride that lingered in Hannibal’s gaze.

Will realized what he wanted just as he was starting to question the path his mind had gone down. For a moment he grit his teeth at the impossibility, clenching his fists around the steering wheel ( _this isn’t sustainable_ ), but gradually, he found his body relaxing.

It wasn’t sustainable. Maybe it could be. The image of Hannibal on a leash rose to his mind again, and Will briefly wished his active imagination didn't take everything so literally.

What the hell was he even thinking?

Nothing at all, apparently, because the next thing Will knew he had his cell phone pressed against his ear.

“You’ve reached Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I am currently unavailable at the moment, but please leave a message and I shall return your call as soon as possible.”

For some reason the voicemail message made Will laugh. Hannibal Lecter having something as mundane as voicemail. Leave a message for Satan, he’ll call you back as soon as he’s finished preparing the fingers of the grocer who flicked him off last weekend.

Soon Will found himself laughing harder, tears welling up in his eyes.

He was seriously considering this. He’d looked at one future and decided he didn’t like what it brought, but what did it say about him that he preferred a world where Hannibal wasn’t in jail?

He realized suddenly that the tone had beeped ages ago, and all he’d done was laugh hysterically into the receiver. “Shit,” he huffed, and wavered between hanging up and just going into his message. There was a way to delete these things, right? He pulled the phone away to look, and cursed when he accidentally pressed the ‘end call’ button. Well, maybe Hannibal was the sort of person who didn’t listen to his voice messages.

 

 

“Will?” Hannibal sounded concerned. Clearly, he had listened to the message. “Is everything all right?”

Will pressed the phone between his shoulder and his ear, trying to feed his dogs as they spoke. “Why do you ask?”

“I received a rather odd message from you.”

“I was sort of hoping you’d call without listening to it.”

“I see.” Hannibal went quiet. Will realized that the man still did not know why he’d intended on calling, or about his conversation with Jack. He thought about their last meeting, unable to help a wince, that suspicion rising that Hannibal had to know _something_ rising again. He wondered what would have happened if he’d taken the man up on his offer to stay at the house.

“Can I see you?” Will blurted, and the pause he received was an indication he’d caught Hannibal off guard. He was getting better at that.

“Before our appointment?” Hannibal asked, sounding genuinely curious. He could picture the man sitting at his desk, legs crossed, patiently waiting for his next patient to arrive.

Will huffed under his breath when the food mostly missed the bowl, but the dogs didn’t seem to mind. He straightened, trying to get himself together. There was a plan now, he reminded himself. A plan he wasn’t really counting on, but a plan nonetheless. When it came to Hannibal Lecter, one had to be prepared to account for extra variables. Particularly the variable that Hannibal already knew about your plan and had his own plan to counter it.

“Yes," he finally answered, voice coming out strong. "We should talk. About our sacrifice. About teacups.”

This time, it didn’t take Hannibal as long to respond. “I usually take lunch in my office. I will be unable to provide anything for you, but perhaps we could eat together if you bring something.”

“I’ll be there with bells on. What time?”

“Twelve thirty. I was surprised to see a call from you at such an early hour.”

Will kneeled down, scratching behind Buster’s ears as the dog ate. “I wasn’t thinking about time when I called.”

“You were thinking about something, though. Important enough that it could not wait until our usual conversation.” Hannibal was curious. 

“It is important. I.” He found himself not sure what to say, still adjusting to the way the very concept of this new plan sat inside his head. It didn't quite fit, a few sharp edges digging into his thoughts, making him want to doubt himself. He couldn't though, too late for that now. He was changing the rules of his own game. Will found himself laughing again.

“Will?”

“Do you remember what you told me, about Achilles and Patroclus?”

“‘Achilles wished all greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone’.”

Will wet his lips. “What did Patroclus wish for?”

There was a slightly longer pause, and Will heard something from Hannibal’s line.

“I apologize, Will, it is time for my next appointment. I will see you at twelve thirty.”

Will let out a breathe he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “See you then.”

 

 

 

When Will made it to Hannibal’s office he waited, as usual. As usual, the door opened promptly at the planned time. Hannibal gave him a smile- like usual- but something about it felt off. Will returned it- unlike usual- and politely waited while Hannibal disguised his surprise.

“Will, right on time.”

“Dr. Lecter.” Will tilted his head in greeting, and stepped past the psychiatrist and into the office. Immediately, a delectable scent greeted his nose, and he saw the culprits sitting innocuously on Hannibal’s desk, several container filled with something steaming.

Will licked his lips, hearing Hannibal shut the door behind him. “Smells delicious,” he complimented, and saw Hannibal’s vanity rear up in the man. “What is it?”

“Miso soup, rice, and a filet of fish.” Hannibal explained, gesturing as he moved over to his desk. "Typically eaten for breakfast in Japan, my own pallet finds it better suited for lunch."

Will followed, leaning against the surface as Hannibal took a seat. The position was a familiar one, and Will indulged himself in thinking about a time Before, when he’d heard that Tobias Budge had been killed by one Hannibal Lecter.

_"I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world."_

_"I got here on my own. But I appreciate the company."_

He resisted the urge to snort. As he came back to reality, he realized Hannibal had been listing off the ingredients he’d used in his soup. Hannibal's lips pursed when he noticed he wasn't paying attention, and Will could see the inner argument in the man's head over whether to chastise or ask a question.

“Something on your mind?”

Will’s lips twitched, and he looked up towards the ceiling. “Always. Sorry. Can I have some?” He asked, but when he looked back down to Hannibal, he looked troubled. To anyone else he would have read indifferent, but Will could see it in his eyes.

“I only have one serving. I apologize, I did mention I wouldn’t be able to-”

Will shook his head. “We know each other too well to let a little saliva put me off a meal, doctor.” He wondered if Hannibal was germaphobic.

Hannibal watched him with an almost bored expression, but Will saw the haughtiness in his gesture when he held out the spoon. Will’s heart pounded just a bit faster.

Will accepted the utensil, leaning down as he dipped it in the soup and brought it to his lips.

By chance, his eyes lifted to meet Hannibal’s as the silverware passed into his mouth, and he found the man watching him with some emotion that remained out of Will’s reach.

“The Japanese consider eating or drinking after someone an indirect kiss,” Hannibal mused, and Will swallowed, wondering what he was getting at.

He licked his lips. “That’s delicious.”

Hannibal took his spoon back, considering it as he rested it in the hot liquid. “You said you had something to speak with me about, Will? I must admit my curiosity is piqued.” Hannibal lifted the spoon. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before he drank.

Will watched him, for lack of anything else to look at. “I cancelled our ‘last supper’ with Jack.”

Hannibal paused, and Will saw a flash of tongue as he pulled the spoon from his mouth. “May I ask why?”

Will couldn't tell if Hannibal was angry or confused. “You were right,” he said, appealing once more to his vanity. Three compliments in less than five minutes. Will wondered if Hannibal realized he was attempting to butter him up. If he would willingly jump into the pan Will held under him. He sighed inwardly- the metaphors were really starting to get out of hand.

Will paused purposefully, and waited.

“About?” Hannibal prompted.

Will resisted the urge to smile. “I don’t need a sacrifice.”

Something glistened in Hannibal’s eyes, but he looked away a moment later, going back to his soup. “What made you come to that conclusion?”

“After I left your house, I did some thinking.” Will looked off towards the bookshelves lining the walls of Hannibal's office.

Hannibal was watching him. Will could see from his peripheral vision, but he didn’t turn back and face the man, keeping his fingers steady against his thighs, even though he wanted to drum them against his slacks, felt the urge to fidget.

“You have reconsidered my offer, then?”

That wasn’t what Will expected. There was something like hope, in Hannibal’s tone, and it brought that guilt back to the surface. “If we run now, our guilt is assured. Jack knows, Hannibal.”

He heard quiet slurping noises, and waited for Hannibal to speak again.

“What would you have us do, then?”

He turned back to Hannibal then. “What you’ve been doing for years,” he said casually, keeping his eyes on the other’s face. “Blend in.” Hannibal had left the spoon resting against the side of the container, too curious to continue the facade of eating. Will lifted the utensil, slowly, deliberately, and took another spoonful of Hannibal’s lunch.

Hannibal watched him, face a perfect mask of indifference. A shudder zigzagged it’s way down Will’s spine, and he straightened to hide it, returning the spoon to his place. It was intoxicating, even that small bit of control Hannibal allowed him. Control was a priceless commodity in their relationship, and right now Hannibal held much of the wealth. If this was going to be at all sustainable, that needed to change. Hannibal said he saw them as equals, but Will had never been tempted to believe him before. He had to, if this was going to work. He had to tip the scales. He had to see if Hannibal would let him.

Another shudder coursed through him, and Will looked over at Hannibal, who was watching him closely.

“What did you say was inside the soup?” Will asked, because it was the only thing he could think to.

Hannibal paused before answering. “Wakame, green onion. Sometimes there will be bits of tofu added. I used a substitute.”

Of course he had. Will hazarded a guess, “Beef?”

Hannibal’s lips twitched. “Pork, actually. A pig bothering all the other pigs at the market.”

Will looked away, and did not smile.

 

 

Alana could be a big help, if he played his cards right. The fact of the matter was she bothered him now, in a way he hadn’t thought possible before. He still cared for her, wanted to keep her safe, but he’d lost a lot of affection for Alana Bloom, when she’d insisted on declaring him crazy and stared at him with those pitying eyes.

She was afraid of Hannibal now, and a fair bit of creative dancing around the topic would be required to bend that to his advantage. It would be worth it, though. If The Plan worked. What bothered Will more than Alana was that he wasn’t bothered by what sequence of events he had laid out in his head. Not really. He wondered if lost some fundamental part of himself was lost, when he sent Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal. When he’d decided the only way to beat him was to join him. He hadn’t been wrong, no, but he would be a fool to believe he had come out unscathed. He was full of scars.

That made him feel powerful though, beating Hannibal at his own game. This made him feel powerful, too. Not directed by Jack, not lying to himself. A new game. One he was in control of. One Hannibal didn’t know he was playing. It made Will feel like the man himself.

When that thought made him want to smile, Will decided had definitely lost some part of himself. A part that made him human.

 

“Have you been to see Hannibal, lately?” It could sound like a completely nonchalant question.

Alana turned to him, then faced forwards again, looking out at the dogs running happily ahead. Their paws ripped over the ground, still cold and wet, muddying their paws and ripping up clumps of grass.

“I haven’t,” she said, and then after a pause, “I’m afraid of what might happen if I do.”

Will was well aware that Hannibal’s ‘relationship’ with Alana was one of convenience, and it didn't feel good to see her hurt like this. He cared just a little too much. It was one more piece that could be moved to his advantage though, so for the time being he’d have to allow it. His was the only way he could see things not ending in heartbreak, anyway.

“Because of Jack and I?” Will asked, the question sounding more like a statement. Alana stayed silent, staring at the ground.

Just when Will was about to look away she said something, almost too soft to hear entirely. It could have been ‘I soap eyes’ but was probably ‘I was so blind’.

Will let out a sigh as only the long suffering could. "I didn't want to bring you into this Alana." That was the truth. If she hadn't started poking her nose into things, accusing him- again, he thought to himself, irritated- then things might have gone a lot more smoothly for her.

Alana scoffed. "How could I not be 'in' this, Will? I'm caught. Tangled. I look back on years of memories and wonder..."

Will thought privately there was no need to be so melodramatic. Alana didn't even yet know what it felt like to be betrayed by Hannibal so thoroughly. Played like his infernal harpsichord, only to have everything ripped out from underneath you. What it felt like to go through that, yet still find yourself still stupidly eager to be by the man's side.

Deciding he'd work out his own issues later, Will went ahead. "It won't be long now. But... try not to dig your heels in too far." The wind bit at them, and Will saw Alana turn her head in her peripheral vision. He kept his eyes on the dogs. “Not everything is what it seems, Alana.”

She considered this, giving him a narrow-eyed look. "I've spent too much time with Hannibal to find talking in circles charming, Will."

Will sighed to hide a smile. Obviously she hadn't spent enough time with Hannibal. "I can't say anymore than that. We've worked too hard."

Alana spent the rest of the walk considering his words, as he'd counted on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter the plot picks up the pace a little. See you then!


	3. Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new killer appears, and it seems Hannibal is still able to surprise Will after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so bad at naming chapters.

"Is it the ripper?"

Will stared at the gruesome scene in front of him, offended. Beside him, he could feel Hannibal's ripple of irritation, though his face remained as impassive as ever.

The alley was between a local flower shop and a store that sold antiques, filled with grit and dirt from the recent rain. The police line was doing the best to keep the public out but Will was sure curious onlookers were already snapping photos with their phones that would be online before the reporters could get their articles together. Underneath the smell of decay and blood was the putrid odor of the garbage bags the victims had been propped against.

The forensics team was busy snapping photos, and Will pursed his lips at the thought of someone contaminating the scene before he had a chance to let the pendulum swing. Jack couldn't always get people who understood what he did and what he needed to do it.

"No," he answered definitively. Among other things the timing was wrong- Hannibal had gone to the opera last night. Will paused, unsure how he knew that. He didn't doubt the possibility that Hannibal had told him at some point. Right- Hannibal invited him, weeks ago. He'd politely declined. Not his scene. "This is... inelegant."

Jack gave him a look, clearly ready to believe that every Tom, Dick, and Sally who showed up dead was Hannibal's fault. "These two men were found mutilated and displayed. I don't want to hear that there's another killer out there, Will."

"Well Jack, I'm good, but I can't change reality for you." While Hannibal wasn't exactly innocent, obsession wasn't healthy either.

The little bit of skin under Jack's left eye twitched. Will breathed out through his nose, closing his eyes.

"I need five minutes."

"Everybody, clear the scene." At Jack's powerful voice, the photographers and technicians and everyone else picking through the remains paused, clearly reluctant to leave their work. Will could see some considering arguing, but the sight of others slowly beginning to trickle back out onto the main road seemed to convince them to leave as well, notes of irritation on their faces.

Hannibal turned too, straightening his collar. There was a light chill in the air but he wore no coat despite the chill, and showed no outward discomfort.

"Hannibal," Will called.

"Yes, Will?"

Will chose his words carefully. "Stay. This killer... his motivations strike me as decidedly sexual. I don't want to get too far inside his head." He met Hannibal's eyes, studying the look on his face.

"Of course," came the easy response, and Hannibal turned around fully, clasping his hands together in front of him. No one had ever questioned Hannibal's casual ease at crime scenes, Will realized, mildly amused by that fact.

Will's lips twitched into a faint smile, and he turned back, taking in a breath.

This was indeed another victory, however small. There was also something comforting about knowing Hannibal was there. The encephalitis was gone, but some part of him still feared opening his eyes and finding himself hovering over a corpse that he didn't remember. A part of him wanted to laugh, at the idea of Hannibal being comforting. It was Hannibal who had taken advantage of his encephalitis, before.

Pushing the finer details of The Plan behind him, Will let his eyes close. In his mind's eyes, he could see the pendulum.

_I don't know these two men, or anything about him. Yet, I hate them. So completely, with my very being. After one look I can't restrain the urge to get my hands on them. So I don't._

_I hunt them while they're together. I find their house. It's not hard. Almost too easy. It's not my first time doing this, but it's my first time that I know I want to show others my work. It's important they see. It's important they know._

_I peel off their faces while they're still alive. The screams spur me on, and I tell myself what I'm doing is righteous. Next, I take their manhood. I carve stigmata into their wrists and ankles, and stuff lilies inside. That’s when the excitement overwhelms me._

Will opened his eyes with a sharp inhale, and a full body shudder. The foreign stirrings of arousal swirled, and he pushed the killers emotions from his head with disgust, turning his eyes away from the corpses. A hand fell on his shoulder, sudden, firm, and Will flinched.

"Will?"

"He believed these men committed some sort of horrible indiscretion," It was a little hard to catch his breath. "There's... fury, but also... jealousy."

"Perhaps, for all our killer disapproved of their crime, he felt envious that he himself could not participate," Hannibal speculated

Will nodded faintly. "This was a punishment. But. He was as disgusted as he was... fascinated."

"And what did our victims do that was so heinous?"

That was the million dollar question. Will stared at the bodies, squinting. There was something about them he was missing. "I don't know."

"Lilies are a biblical symbol of purity," Hannibal said, and Will noticed then how close the man's voice was to his ear. Hannibal's hand was still on his shoulder, warm, despite the fact he knew the heat had to be swallowed by the fabric of his jacket. When he turned his head, Hannibal's gaze was fixed on the corpses, and if he realized their proximity he gave no indication of it. "He felt they needed to be cleansed."

"Religious," Will considered. “But the flowers seem almost an afterthought. Like something he felt obliged, rather than compelled to do.” Something clicked, and Will blinked hard. "We'll need to get an ID to be sure, but I think these men were together." This time when he looked at Hannibal, he was being watched back.

"When they were killed?" Hannibal asked. His nostrils flared lightly, and Will had the inappropriately-timed thought that he could probably smell his breath.

"No. Well yes. But I mean, they were dating. Possibly married."

Hannibal's hand slid off him, and Will looked down at it, frowning.

"Will?" Jack's voice filled the room. Hannibal was already meandering over to the bodies, and Will wondered if the closeness had been an illusion. "Talk to me."

Will repeated what he knew of the profile thus far, keeping his eyes ahead, watching Hannibal watch the bodies. Did he know something Will didn't? Would he tell him? Maybe, Will thought, but not in front of Jack. He could feel, as time passed since his 'therapy' had resumed, Hannibal slowly opening as he gained the man's trust. He wondered if this killer would catch Hannibal’s eye, as others had. Will doubted it. This was vulgar, tedious. Boring. A far cry from what Hannibal did. What he created.

"That's all I have for now. Maybe I can figure out more after the autopsy," Will shrugged, and Jack nodded.

"Religious, possibly homophobic, has to be in the area, considering the time of death. That's enough to go off of for now. Good work Will." Another nod, and Will recognized he was being dismissed. Annoyance settled on his skin in a light film, and he tried to shake it off, well used to Jack using him in such a fashion.

Now that he’d stopped looking, he took care to keep his eyes averted from the corpses, not wanting to get drawn back into that mindset. He knew what he’d be seeing in his dreams.

“Will,” Hannibal said, and the hand came back to his shoulder. “Let us take our leave.”

He nodded, and they headed out as the forensics team poured back in. Will turned towards his own car, running a hand through his hair. Killers had the worst timing.

He sneaked a look at Hannibal, who had an almost thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas who this might be? No former patients who fit the profile?”

Hannibal shook his head. “No. I don’t think this killer will be difficult to find, however. He’s sloppy. Undisciplined. He will slip, eventually.”

Will grunted. “And we’re just supposed to wait until some other couple is tortured to death?”

“Not ideal,” Hannibal said, and Will wasn’t sure if they were words of resignation, a statement, or something else entirely. He turned his head, but Hannibal was staring forward.

He wondered if Hannibal even cared to capture the killer. He would play like he did, of course, but Will knew his heart felt no sympathy for the lives that had been taken. Other parts of him though, might be persuaded to care about the killer himself.

A feeling like cold water poured smoothly over him spread from the crown of Will’s head down to his toes, and he closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to reflect on what he was doing.

Then he spoke. “Our killer is someone who targets happy couples just because they have what he thinks he can’t,” Will said slowly. “He shuns their natures while denying his own. Strikes me as rather rude.”

There was no reaction on Hannibal’s part, save for the slight twitching of his hand. Will slipped his own into his pockets, head turning to the sky as he waited for Hannibal to respond. It looked like rain.

They reached their respective cars before it Hannibal spoke. “Is rudeness a trait you do not expect in the killers you profile?” The question was casual as Hannibal unlocked his Bentley, parked squarely in the lines beside Will’s own car. It looked like shit in comparison.

“I wouldn’t say that. But there’s no elegance in his design. These murders aren’t about purification, they’re blind rage and jealousy disguised as acts of god. He knows there is nothing righteous about what he’s doing.” Will paused, squinting, speculating. “He’s not religious, so much as brought up in a religious environment. He knows what other people have told him about the bible. His own opinions seem almost… indifferent.”

Hannibal was watching him, when his eyes focused again. The psychiatrist had a barely there smile on his face. “Rude indeed,” he agreed, and Will’s lips twitched.

 

Jimmy and Brian flitted around and bantered like usual, but there was a noticeable void where Beverly’s interjections would have gone. Will wondered what she would say, if she knew what he was planning.

“James and Samuel Kirk. You were right Will, these two were hitched.” Brian set his hands on his hips, a bit awkwardly with the clipboard still in his hand.

Jimmy shook his head, a disapproving look on his face. “Bastard.”

The lab felt clean and familiar, and Will stared at the two bodies laying with their endless lines of stitches, trying to see anything he'd missed, anything that would help fill out the profile.

Brian went on, “they were killed around two days ago. Cause of death; mutilation. The holes in their hands and ankles were created after death.”

Will nodded his head, having already figured as much.

“Bastard,” Jimmy repeated.

“Anything else? Prints? Hairs? Fibers? Anything to catch this guy?”

Brian shook his head. “No, nothing.” He frowned. "Well, something."

Will waited.

"Not to do with the case though."

Will breathed in slowly to restrain himself. “Mmhmm?”

“So Will." The lilting tone and the smirk on Brian's face did not bode well. “I hear you and Dr. Lecter made up marvelously, eh?”

Will stared. “I have resumed my therapy with Dr. Lecter.”

Brian snapped the gloves off his fingers, and Jimmy walked closer to Will, looking like he had something to add to the conversation. Brian spoke first, though. “Isn’t that sort of unethical?”

“Unhealthy,” Jimmy added.

Will stared between the two of them. Considering they didn’t know what Hannibal was, Will was fairly confused. “Um,” he settled on.

The two looked between each other. Brian spoke first again. “Wait. So you and doc aren’t…”

“Um?” Will raised an eyebrow.

Jimmy gasped. “No. I was rooting for you guys.”

Will pursed his lips. “Um,” he reiterated.

“You two were so cozy at the crime scene,” Brian said, shaking his head, and Will understood. He felt like laughing, the thought was so entirely comical, but decided to look indifferent instead.

“We aren’t,” he confirmed, wondering what exactly Brian meant by ‘cozy’.

The two hummed.

Will decided to leave, before they got any more strange ideas in their heads. Only once he was outside the building did he let himself chuckle.

 

 

Freddie Lounds leaned forward, eyes glinting. “What do I get in return? You owe me.” The smug little smile on her face didn’t falter in the slightest. In fact it almost seemed bigger, since Will had informed her that she would have to stay dead longer than anticipated.

Will stared at her doe-like face, and wondered why he hadn’t just killed her. “Oh, I have a doozy of a story for you, Freddie.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned in, elbows sliding across the table. “That so? One bigger than ‘Psychiatrist Picks Patients Brains- For Dinner’?”

Will gave her an unimpressed look.

She shrugged it off. “I’m still working on the headline.”

“Bigger,” he promised. Then, he took his turn to lean in. “But first- this doesn’t leave this room. It especially doesn’t get to Jack.”

“I promise,” Freddie agreed easily, eyes widening with interest.

Will smiled faintly.

“You still don’t think Chilton is the Chesapeake Ripper?”

The reporter narrowed her eyes. “Don’t patronize me. You and I both know Chilton fits the profile, but only barely.”

“And what a profile it is,” Will mused. Freddie might end up being the most difficult pawn to position. The hardest part being not losing his temper and actually killing her.

 

 

 

Will took a deep breath as he listened to the gentle burbling of the stream, letting his eyes slide close. Somewhere, off on the shore, a great stag watched with a discerning eye.

Jack would need care, Will decided. He was impatient, impulsive, and would continue pushing until he got his way. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Will was confident in his ability to manipulate him, but only for a limited amount of time.

Alana was weak, vulnerable in her emotional state. He could use that to his advantage.

Freddie would do anything for a good story.

Hannibal. Hannibal had proven himself more malleable than Will had anticipated. Willingly lowering his neck towards the collar Will held cautiously out. Will realized he wasn’t fishing so much as he was training. Hard to lure when your prey stood before you willingly. Just as well, he had a lot of experience training strays. It was far from over, though. And he would be foolish to assume that he was the only one making plans.

He had noticed, though, that sad look fading from Hannibal’s eyes. And the touching. He’d started touching him again. A hand on the shoulder, the arm, between his shoulder blades, light, friendly gestures. He had not seen the doctor so handsy with other's and Will took it as a good sign.

A tug on his line, and Will snapped his eyes open, pole jerking.

Maybe this would work out, after all. Maybe it would backfire, and he would find himself on the end of Hannibal’s knife, or back in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. At least Chilton was no longer in charge.

Will looked over to where the stag stood, and instead saw Hannibal, reclining in a folding chair, sketching.

There were a million possible outcomes, but there was one in which the vision he saw was possible.

Worth the risk, Will thought to himself.

Though, if he did end up imprisoned again, he really was going to miss his dogs.

“It’s getting away,” Abigail said next to him, and Will doubled his efforts, a pang of sadness ringing in his head.

 

 

 

 

“Where are we going?” Will watched Hannibal’s profile, the man’s eyes carefully focused on the road. The interior of Hannibal’s car smelled of expensive leather and was impeccably clean, so much so that Will didn’t feel quite comfortable even resting his feet on the carpeted floors.

A rare day off for the both of them, and Hannibal had requested moving up their usual appointment time. Will hadn’t anticipated this meaning they would be moving somewhere other than Hannibal’s office to talk.

“It’s a surprise.” Hannibal seemed to be in a good mood. That thought made an ominous feeling curl inside his mouth.

“I’m not a big fan of surprises.”

Hannibal gave him an amused look, but did not indulge him with their destination. Will let out a short sigh and leaned back in his seat, glancing at the radio. “Do you mind?” He asked, gesturing, and Hannibal gave a short shake of his head.

“Not at all. Keep in mind though, that if your radio privileges are revoked you will have to earn them back.”

Will tried to look stern, instead of entertained. “I’m not a child.”

“The rule stands all the same.”

Will pressed a button, and a woman’s voice poured through the speakers, already turned to a respectable volume. A news station, chattering about the weather over the next week. Will pressed another button, and the sound switched from words to the smooth timbre of a violin.

Will watched Hannibal’s face as he changed the stations.

The twang of country caused Hannibal’s eyelids to lower imperceptibly.

Metal screams and harsh guitars made his nostrils flare.

Obscenities rapped in a bored voice made the skin around his lips tighten.

Smooth trumpets and a wailing melody had his fingers adjusting their position on the steering wheel.

Will had just switched to a channel that played a bright, if somewhat robotic voice over music clicking along at a breakneck pace, when Hannibal spoke.

“Turn off the radio Will.”

Will did so, leaning back in his seat and turning his head to hide his smile by looking out the window. Sometimes he didn’t want a victory.

They drove until they reached a part of town that Will doubted Hannibal frequented, buildings not run down per se, but definitely not the polished stone and vibrant brick of the residencies and shops near Hannibal’s office. They parked their car in front of a store that’s sign proclaimed ‘Lestat Jewelery’. Will stared as he exited the Bentley, parked between a Volkswagen beetle and a Volvo.

“Hannibal,” Will said, but the man ignored him in favor of stepping towards the door.

That ominous feeling wedged further between his teeth.

“Hannibal,” Will repeated, and paused when the psychiatrist held the door open for him.

“Trust me, Will.”

Now wasn’t that a tall order. Will raised an eyebrow. When he stepped inside, Hannibal’s hand pressed against the small of his back, lower than he’d ever touched before. It felt like a current of electricity ran through him, and Will nearly stumbled, arching away from the touch. The pressure merely grew firmer however, and a look at Hannibal’s face betrayed no explanation.

The jewelry shop was small, but tastefully arranged on the inside. The displays sheltered diamonds and other precious stones of various sizes, glinting in the light, arranged to show off their beauty. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings, even ashtrays passed Will’s eye, and Hannibal walked by them all, before stopping.

He gestured. “What do you think of these?”

Will stared down at the rings, and then back at Hannibal. “I think diamonds are pretentious.”

Hannibal chuckled, and Will tried to look like he wasn’t horribly confused.

“Can I help you?” A figure appeared from a curtain hiding the back of the store, a man of average height in crisp, pressed clothes. His natural posture seemed to be a slouch, but he still managed to look professional, hands neatly behind his back. His eyes wandered over the two of them. Will read faint surprise, disgust, before he looked back to Hannibal, raising an eyebrow.

Hannibal’s eyes were fixed on the store employee. Will was suddenly aware that his hand was still pressed against his back.

“We're looking for a ring. My fiancé is rather picky, and I thought it best he choose himself.” Hannibal turned and gave him a warm smile, and Will stared, brain refusing to process what had just been said.

He realized that it was an act- they obviously weren’t engaged, but Will was having a hard time connecting the words fiancé and Hannibal inside his head. Two lines that should have been parallel, never touching, suddenly turning perpendicular, spearheaded by that faintly amused curve on Hannibal's lips, like they were sharing some great joke.

Will said the only thing he could at the moment. “I’m not that picky."

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes crinkled, and Will looked down at his watch, feeling distinctly detached from reality. What was reality, he didn’t know anymore. _It’s 2:34 pm, I’m in Baltimore, Maryland, and my name is Will Graham._

The jeweler made a sound in the back of his throat, and he didn’t look up at them when he spoke. It was obvious the presence of two men in his store was catching him off guard. “We might not have anything that fits your,” the man hesitated, “fiancé’s tastes.”

Hannibal looked back to the jeweler. “Well, we’ll have a look around, and he can make that decision for himself.” Hannibal leaned closer, and Will panicked, for some reason fearing he was about to be kissed. Of course, Hannibal didn’t kiss him, he wasn’t even anywhere near close enough to, and Will felt silly for even considering the notion. “Take your time, mylamisis.”

Will was pretty sure that wasn’t English. Who knew though, Hannibal had probably memorized the god damn dictionary and knew words that hadn't been used in decades. He looked away from Hannibal, mostly because he realized he was still staring at the man’s mouth in faint horror (he had such an odd mouth. Uniquely shaped, lips almost seeming fuller when they were parted). He had to take back control of the situation.

Will cleared his throat, stepping towards another display and away from Hannibal’s hand, which was burning through the fabric separating it from his back. The rings in these cases were littered with jewels, the price tags outrageous for this small time shop. He rested a hand over the glass. “These don't really look like they’ll fit in our budget.”

Hannibal was inspecting the stones where they’d been standing before. “You cannot put a price tag on love.”

It took a lot of effort for Will not to snort. He didn’t need to fake a smile when he looked over at the man. “You’re so good to me, Hanni.”

That made Hannibal’s head turn, lips twitching in displeasure, and Will returned the look with one of his own, ‘you started it’.

“We do engraving too,” the jeweler said, still standing firmly behind his counter and not looking at them. “Once you pick out the rings, give me an address and I can have them mailed.”

“That sounds marvelous, doesn’t it darling?”

Hannibal calling him ‘darling’ did odd things to Will’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if laughing or simply walking out of the store and never looking back was the more appropriate reaction. “I wouldn’t know what to write.”

Hannibal hummed. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”

“Maybe our anniversary,” Will suggested, shrugging. “You know how forgetful I am.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t forget something so important.”

Will thought about giving a quip regarding forgetting that they were even in a relationship, but that wasn’t the name of the game. So instead, he smiled. “You’re right. You wouldn’t let me.”

A small chuckle left the older man’s lips, and he walked over, standing just a touch closer than he would normally. It made Will realize just how close they normally stood together. Suddenly he was struck with an image of what Zeller and Price must have seen at the crime scene.

Will was aware of the jeweler’s eyes on them, aware of the growing tension, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes off of Hannibal. “What about that one?” He asked, gesturing to some arbitrary space. Hannibal turned his attention downwards, and Will traced the curve of his cheekbone with his eyes. He thought about repeating the action with his hand, but thought that might be taking things a little too far.

“It doesn’t quite suit you,” Hannibal decided, even though Will knew damn well he hadn’t pointed to any ring in particular.

“I’m getting a new shipment in soon,” the jeweler interrupted, sounding testy. “Next season stuff. If you leave me a card I can call once they’re in.”

Hannibal looked delighted. Will found something odd about the suggestion. “Excellent idea.”

 

They were barely in the shop for five more minutes before Hannibal pressed a hand against the small of his back again, and led him out.

Will waited until he heard the door close behind them to speak. “What makes you think it’s him?”

“You do not trust me?”

“I think I need to hear this leap of logic for myself,” Will responded, tone dry. “Humor me.”

They got into the car, and Hannibal started it casually, as if they hadn’t spent the better part of the last the fifteen minutes pretending to be a couple.

“The bodies the FBI found both had patches of lighter skin on their ring fingers. Combined with the bruising, it struck me as unusual.” Hannibal paused, and Will admitted to himself he’d considered the bruising a side effect of the vicious wounds in the victim’s hands. “And, they smelt faintly of a chemical solution used to clean jewelry, so I did a little research into jewelers close to where they lived. The employee there, Carson Blake, caught my attention.”

Of course, leave it to Hannibal Lecter’s ridiculous nose to save the day. Well, ‘save’ probably wasn’t the right word. Still, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t impressed. He wondered how long it would take for Jack and the other’s to consider that lead.

“And if that’s not him?”

“Then I suspect there might be some interesting rumors circulating around my usual circle of friends.”

Will shook his head. “This was reckless, Hannibal. We can’t afford to take risks right now.” What if someone had seen them go in, together? Or seen them acting like… they’d acted? He knew the next step would be Hannibal turning the man into a meal. They couldn’t be placed there, once that happened.

Isn’t that what you wanted? A traitorous voice whispered inside his head. A voice that sounded a lot like Hannibal.

Will’s nostrils flared, and he shook his head again. He looked out the window, startled when he saw they were already on the road. “That ‘slim, delicate pig’ was already too big of a risk.” Before Will could work out what else to say, how to phrase it, Hannibal said, “I thought we agreed, ‘no more lies’, Will”, and the profiler froze in his seat.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the car, leaving it hard to breathe. Hannibal knew. If they hadn’t been in a car, he might have seriously considered fleeing that very moment. The thought of throwing open the door and taking his chances with the road crossed his mind.

Will turned to look at Hannibal slowly. He was staring out the windshield, all traces of good humor in him gone. Will’s fingers played with the button for the window, but he didn’t dare press it.

“How?” He asked, and then swallowed when the sound came out barely louder than a whisper. “How did you know?” If Hannibal knew about Freddie Lounds, what else could he know about?

“I smelled her overly fragrant shampoo on you, when she was supposedly long dead.”

Hannibal’s nose might be better than his dog’s. Hannibal still had his eyes trained ahead, posture open and relaxed, but the tension in the air threatened to cut Will if he so much as blinked too hard.

“I had hoped you would tell me yourself. Come clean.”

Will swallowed hard, feeling all his careful planning starting to come crumbling down. Of course he couldn’t play Hannibal. He was a fool to think he could ever have the upper hand over such a man. The Chesapeake Ripper. The devil himself. When Will looked again, he could see fragments of Hannibal’s expression hidden to him before.

A raw hurt, exposed in the droop of his eyelids, the tightening of his fingers against the steering wheel. The easy camaraderie from barely a minute ago seemed years away.

“Why didn’t you,” Will croaked, and cursed himself for sounding so unrefined. His brain was scrambling to analyze the situation, to respond appropriately, but the game was over, and there were no other moves to be had.

“Kill you?” Hannibal continued for him, and Will gave a small nod Hannibal couldn’t have seen. “I wanted to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Apologize.”

Something like guilt welled up in Will’s eyes.

Hannibal was quiet for a second, and then, “I was pleasantly surprised when you took it. Why did you?”

Sheer shock stopped Will from gaping. He stared at Hannibal, and then down at his own lap, feeling very much like he was no longer keeping up with events.

One thing he understood was the pain he’d thought he might be imagining, at their meal of lamb, had not been imagined at all. Hannibal had known, then. He’d been asking for a confession.

Now Hannibal was telling him he’d redeemed himself, in some way, but Will was at a loss as to how. Unless Hannibal had seen his plan all along. Or at least part of it. Unless Hannibal had realized he was no longer under Jack’s thumb. It was getting hard to keep track of who knew what and who wanted who to think they knew things they may or may not know. Will craved clarity for one brief, desperate moment.

“I imagined a world where we couldn’t be.” Will trailed off, trying to decide how that sentence ended. “Like this.” He looked out the window for strength, not wanting to see Hannibal’s face. “I didn’t care for it.”

Silence reigned in the car, but Will could feel the sharp tension starting to fade.

“Our world will crumble, if Jack Crawford has his way,” Hannibal mused, finally.

Will’s lips twitched. “I found a way to make the teacup come back together.”

He turned, and saw Hannibal raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

The game was back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this isn't crack.


	4. Placing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot. Each piece needs to be set just so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are summaries. I’m not too confident at writing investigations/mysteries, so many details I either don't know or forget to focus on, so I apologize in advance. In general, I feel my strength lies more in the cutesy, romantic scenes rather than plot, but I hope you still enjoy xD
> 
> Also, writing the next few chapters, I realize I might as well throw on the 'oblivious Will' tag, because... geez man. I mean, in the third season that question to Bedelia... 'Is Hannibal in love with me?' DUH HOW DID YOU NOT FLEKWAJ;JKA
> 
> anyway. Enjoy! I'm currently writing chapter 8, so with that four day head start hopefully I should be finished in time to continue my one chapter a day schedule.

He’d had to reveal his hand a bit sooner than anticipated, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few cards up his sleeve, still. The metaphors didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so Will decided he’d just have to accept them as a permanent fixture of his thought process. He blamed Hannibal.

 

 

“You should invite Hannibal fishing,” Abigail said from her spot next to him, a sunny smile on her face. She had two ears and there was no scar marring her neck. Will looked over to the shore, where Hannibal sat in a fold out chair that Will was certain he didn’t own, sketching something with a look of intense concentration.

Abigail rolled her eyes. “No, I mean, really invite him.”

Will scoffed, inhaling deeply afterwards. “Standing knee deep in a river waiting for a bite isn’t Hannibal Lecter’s idea of a pleasant afternoon.”

She tilted her head, eyes returning to the wide expanse of water ahead of them. The sun shone brightly overhead, making the river sparkle. “Like the opera isn’t yours?”

“Yeah.”

“So why is he here?” Abigail gestured over to the Hannibal phantom, and Will frowned. When he looked again, instead of Hannibal calmly sketching, the grotesquely beautiful antlered creature bearing Hannibal’s face crouched there instead. The sky grew a shade darker.

“I don’t know. It just seemed pleasant.” He hated it when the figments of his imagination called him out on things.

“Maybe he’d think so too.”

Will hummed, but didn’t give a response. He could tell Abigail wanted to say more, but was restraining herself. Alana probably wouldn't call him stable, with such detailed day dreams. He was aware that Abigail was dead, though. Even picturing her standing next to him, death blared between every line they spoke like an alarm clock lacking the snooze function. Hannibal would say he had a ‘wonderful imagination’.

“He misses me too, you know.”

“That’s just what I want to think,” Will muttered. “Hannibal is a very good actor.”

“You were willing to believe you could hurt him,” Abigail pointed out, “Why not that he regrets killing me?”

“Hannibal doesn’t do regret. If he thought would regret something, he wouldn’t do it in the first place.” That idea gave him pause, though he couldn’t say why for sure.

A small smile ran across Abigail’s face, like she knew something he didn’t. “And even though you don’t believe he feels bad about killing me, you still chose him.”

“I never said it was a good decision,” Will mumbled. “Just the one I made."

Blessed silence filled the clearing again. When Will’s eyes flicked towards the shore, Hannibal was there once more, pencil in hand, a small smile on his face. He was watching.

“I still think you should invite him.”

Will let his eyes linger on the curve of Hannibal’s lips. “Maybe I will.”

 

  
The day felt quiet. Perhaps because the small cafe they sat in wasn’t very full, and the windows protected them from the noise of outside, silence only broken when someone pushed open the door and ended the spell. Clouds hung suspended, threatening rain, but so far it remained dry, and gray. And quiet.

Will waited until Alana finished an anecdote about Dr. Frederick Chilton, still ‘The Chesapeake Ripper’ in scared eyes all over the country. Captured and wounded. He had no desire to talk about Chilton. It was almost irritating to think of the man holding that title. He didn’t deserve it. He was not nearly clever enough, nor talented, to pull it off, but that was what had the world reeling- no one saw it coming.

Once he saw an opening to change the subject he took , it, keeping his tone casual and voice low. “This killer is really getting to Jack.” Will took a sip of his too expensive coffee. He’d had better at Hannibal’s house. That man was going to turn him into a food snob.

Alana sighed, nodding. “Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

“I don't know how you manage to say ‘no’ to him all the time.” Jack had a soft spot for Alana.

She gave him a rueful smile. “Maybe I just know my limits.”

“Touché.” Will looked down at his cup, idly tapping the paper bottom against the table in an uneven rhythm. He drew his eyebrows together to look troubled. “He’s been a nightmare lately. Between his feelings about the Chesapeake Ripper, and Bella, I can’t really blame him, though.”

Alana’s sharp eyes watched him over the rim of her mug. She licked her lips before she spoke, missing a fleck of cream on the corner of her mouth. “I thought you and Jack had the same feelings, regarding the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will didn’t meet her eyes, giving a shrug and strategically changing the subject again. “Jack likes to chastise me for working while unstable, but maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t know my limits.”

Alana settled back in her seat. “I imagine a wife with cancer might cloud his judgement.”

“He won’t listen to me,” Will said offhand, and Alana seemed to read his mind.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. But what about you, Will?”

Ah, they’d arrived at the part of the conversation where she doubted his life choices. He was surprised it had taken this long.

“Do you still know where you are with Hannibal?”

Will decided to go the humor route, and let a smile curl his lips. “Zeller and Price thought we were dating.”

Alana didn’t look amused. Realizing that probably wasn’t a very funny joke, to Hannibal’s current lover, he looked back down at his coffee. “Ridiculous, right? I figured they must not have heard about you two.”

“Not ridiculous.”

Will glanced up to find Alana watching him, something like indifference on her face. She was analyzing again.

“You and Hannibal have gotten close, despite what you did.”

What he did. Right. Will told himself not to be too angry- growing more resentful towards her would do neither of them good. He used his irritation, furrowing his brow. “Not that close.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Besides, he doesn’t strike me as someone who would cheat. Or someone who’s interested in men, really. I’m not.” That was what Zeller, Price, and Alana all seemed to be forgetting.

Alana’s lips curled, just barely. “I’m not sure I know what kind of someone Hannibal is, anymore.”

“Why don’t you call things off, then?”

She averted her eyes. It made Will sick. She suspected Hannibal of being morally dubious, if not a murderer, and yet she had neither the resolve to distance herself nor the loyalty to defend him.

The door behind her opened, suddenly, sending noise and a chill pouring in. Alana shivered, back straightening, and Will stopped himself from waiting for an answer he likely didn't want to hear.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Will granted, wondering if she would recognize the gesture as the mercy it was.

The rest of the conversation was drowned in pleasantries and coffee, and Alana was the first to excuse herself, a genuine smile on her lips, if small. Will wondered if their tentative relationship could return to what it had been once, if he wanted it to. She’d been right, she wasn’t able to stop psychoanalyzing him. She and Hannibal probably had a healthier relationship (on the surface, of course) than their’s would have been.

Will finished up his coffee and threw the cup away.

 

 

 

Margot Verger looked as she always did. Beaten but not broken, refined, chin propped up with the strength of her dignity. Will stepped aside to let her in, the dogs all moving forwards to sniff at her. He halted their progress with a sharp noise, and she gave them an amused look.

“Will Graham,” she sighed, taking slow, measure steps further into the house. “I was surprised to hear from you. Don’t tell me you called me over for round two.”

Will shook his head, lips curling in a small, sincere smile. He liked Margot. Even if his mind hadn’t been entirely on her when they’d ‘shown their scars’, she was strong, weathered by life’s unfairness, but standing tall. He respected that. “No. I’d rather not repeat that disaster.” Unable to help himself, his eyes fell to her stomach.

Margot took a seat, staring up at him. If she noticed where his gaze sat, she paid it no mind. “I wouldn’t call it a disaster,” she said, one side of her mouth crooking up. “You showed me a good time, Will. I never thanked you.”

Will scoffed. “You’ve got nothing to thank me for, considering what happened afterwards.”

Margot’s eyes went dark, head drifting off to the side. “Oh, I don’t blame you for that.”

“You were right to end your therapy with Dr. Lecter.” Will felt absurdly like apologizing on Hannibal’s behalf, like he held responsibility for the man’s actions. ‘So sorry about Hannibal, that little miscreant, can’t take him anywhere.’

Margot sucked lightly on her teeth, eyes hooding. “I don’t blame Dr. Lecter, either.”

Will knew Margot had a sharp mind. Still, he felt the urge to reiterate what she must already know. “Margot...”

“The person who took my child from me is Mason. Dr. Lecter made the suggestion because he didn’t like me playing with his toys.” Margot looked up at him, and Will shifted uncomfortably, the wording making him as uncomfortable as she'd known it would. “Mason hired the surgeons. He ordered the car accident. He gave me this scar.” She gestured to her stomach, and Will wasn’t sure how to respond.

For a brief moment silence dripped over them, before Margot let out a light sigh. “I don’t think you called me over to discuss blame. So what, then? A social call?”

“In a way.”

“Hmm.”

“Your brother didn’t press charges against Hannibal,” he said, deciding to be blunt. Of course Mason hadn’t pressed charges. He wanted Hannibal to suffer. Mason was a sadist, he wouldn’t be happy until he’d put Hannibal through unspeakable amounts of pain to repay the man for what he’d done.

Margot tilted her head. “That’s interesting. Now why would he do that?” Her lips curled, just faintly. Anyone else might not have seen it. Margot, Will realized, was relishing in her brother’s agony. He could hardly blame her. He wondered if she saw this particular turn of events as an indirect apology. If she felt Maon's mutilation made up for Hannibal’s role in taking her child. If she wanted to thank him.

If she did, Will wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No need to play games.” He got enough of that with Hannibal. “Why do you think Hannibal let Mason go, alive?”

Margot answered easily. “He wants me to kill him myself.”

“Will you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Margot stared out the window.

It was a shame, he thought, that he didn’t have the correct parts for her proclivities. If Margot could stare at the monster that was Hannibal Lecter and say ‘thank you’, then maybe she could accept his monster as well. It was probably time to give up hope on any sort of relationship in the normal sense. Hannibal had already stolen Alana from him, then had his unborn child killed. Getting closer to anyone else would only put them at risk.

_"You don't want me to have anything in my life that's not you."_

The memory made Will's lips curl in a sardonic smile. ‘Not too late to change your mind’, he thought to himself, but he knew it was a lie.

“Do you enjoy seeing Mason like this?”

Margot turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not my therapist.”

Will’s lips twitched. “When he recovers, you know what Mason will do.”

“I do,” Margot granted, simply. “What I don’t know is what you’ll do.” She tilted her head. “You and Dr. Lecter have an odd relationship.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They watched each other, and Will knew Margot was aware of why she’d been invited. Mason Verger would soon be a problem, Will needed to know which side of the equation she stood on.

Margot wandered over to where the dogs lay in comfortable piles, kneeling down next to Winston. “Maybe you can help me, Will Graham,” she said, with a rather carefree air.

Will stood and slipped his hands into his pockets. “With?”

“I seem to be in the market for a new therapist. Any suggestions?”

“I’m surprised you still believe in therapy.”

“In some ways, I found it surprisingly helpful.” She scratched behind Winston’s ears, head tilted fetchingly to the side and revealing a smooth neck. “There was something to being able to tell someone all my dirty little secrets. To tell them the truth, my truth. To feel them understand, and accept.” Margot stood, adjusting her blazer. “Though, unfortunately I feel like that particular aspect of my therapy might be singular to Dr. Lecter.”

Will’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“I know someone who might be able to help you.”

 

 

  
“We still have nothing on this guy,” Jack growled. “For all we know he’s already targeted his next victims.”

‘He probably has’, Will thought to himself, thinking of his and Hannibal’s time in the man’s shop. Of the warm distraction of Hannibal’s hand on his back. Then he forced himself to focus. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Jack.” Will was getting tired of repeating it. He did know more about the case than he was letting on, but he’d told Jack he didn’t damn it. The man should know when to leave well enough alone, but of course he didn’t. Jack would push, and keep pushing, until he got to the point where he couldn’t any longer. Will could lie broken at his feet and the strongest remorse Jack Crawford would feel would be that he could no longer get any use out of him.

Some part of Will still wanted to save lives. As he stared at the frustration and anger lining Jack’s face, reminding himself of Bella, of what Jack went through every day he went home, not even that part of Will felt guilty for withholding information.

“Take the file home. Give it another look over. It’s not a request, Will.”

“Yeah, Jack. Okay.”

“Will?”

“What, Jack.”

“How is that other project coming along?”

Will considered him. One silver lining of this was that Jack hadn’t been pressuring him about Hannibal- as much. It helped that Hannibal had been oddly docile lately (well okay, he’d fed pieces of Mason Verger to his dogs and he’d made the man eat his own nose, he’d fed his lackey to the pigs, he’d manipulated Mason into killing his and Margot’s baby and removing the woman’s uterus, and he’d sent Randall Tier to kill him, along with who knew what the man got up to in his spare time, but that was pretty tame by Hannibal’s standards).

 _After all that_ , he thought to himself, almost able to hear the ‘tsk’ sound, _you still want him to walk free_. Will’s response, noiseless as it was, still managed to be defiant. I do.

“It’s coming,” he promised.

 

  
He went to Hannibal’s house on a whim. He could feel the bad mood forming the more he mulled over Jack's words, irritation rumbling under his skin. Hannibal could be fairly infuriating himself, so he wasn't sure why he decided he was the man to go to.

Nevertheless, when he parked his car it was in front of Hannibal's house that he found himself.

He walked up and rang the doorbell, stuffing his hands into his pockets and fixing his burning gaze on his shoes.

 

It took Hannibal longer than usual to open the door. There was a mask of polite indifference on his face, but Will could see the irritation hiding underneath it. “Will,” Hannibal greeted, but when Will moved to step inside, Hannibal didn’t, resulting in them nearly knocking noses.

Will frowned, took a step back. “Hannibal,” he returned, and watched the psychiatrist regard him.

“I have another guest. I must ask you to come back some other time.”

Will’s eyebrows inched up his forehead. Then, of all things, Hannibal winked. Will gaped, and then his bad mood caught up to the confusion, and he felt distinctly like there was a joke going on he wasn’t involved in.

“Will your ‘guest’ be here long?” He asked, staring hard at the other man’s face.

“I imagine he’ll stay as long as he likes.”

Will frowned. “I’m not just going to drive around until you feel like ‘fitting me in’ to your busy schedule.”

“I would never suggest such a thing.” Indeed, Hannibal looked nearly offended.

“So let me in. I can wait. Your house is big enough you won’t even know I’m there.”

“If you insist.” Hannibal stepped aside, and nearly hit Will with the door as he closed it behind him.

That sobered his irritation a little, and he looked to Hannibal, who was already walking briskly down the entry hall.

“You know, you seem…” Will didn’t have a chance to finish that thought as he followed. A heavy blow to the back of his head made him grunt, sent him down. He caught himself, but just barely. When he managed to turn, it was to the sight of a familiar man holding a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing Margot.


	5. Knocking Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets to see the Chesapeake Ripper at work, and is more than a little enthralled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a little shorter but I took some of chapter six and worked it in, since that was a longer chapter. I can see the end of the story in sight. I'm currently writing chapter nine. I'm thinking it might end up being around 15 chapters or less, we'll see.

It was as if he were underwater. Will watched as the man pointed the gun at him, and then somewhere off to the side, presumably at Hannibal. He was talking, but the bells in Will’s ears made it impossible to hear.

Will blinked hard. When he opened his eyes, Hannibal had the man’s wrist in one hand, the gun in another, the two of them crashing against the wall as they tried to get the upper hand. Hannibal irritated, the man panicked. Hannibal managed to rip the gun away, and Will stared as it skidded across the floor.

The intruder elbowed Hannibal in the gut, then tried to follow up with a fist to the face, but in a movement faster than Will expected Hannibal avoided the punch and retaliated with a jab to the throat. A choked gasp left the intruder as he stumbled back, trying to breathe, but Hannibal took the back of his neck in one strong hand, and yanked it down as his knee came up. Nose met muscle, hard, and the man let out a strangled noise, slumping to the floor.

Hannibal straightened his jacket. “Will, are you all right?”

Will blinked again, heat prickling under his skin. “I’ll probably have a headache.”

Hannibal walked over, helped him up. Will stumbled into his arms, and Hannibal staggered, just faintly. Will noticed the bruises blooming underneath his collar, and wondered what he’d interrupted by ringing the doorbell.

Suddenly, Hannibal grunted, buckling, nearly dragging Will down with him. Will forced himself to get his bearings. He could see the glint of a knife.

Will stepped on the wrist of the hand that held the weapon, and ground his shoe against delicate bones, giving Hannibal time to recover from the laceration made in his calf. Then he ducked down, grabbed for the weapon and ripped it from the intruder’s grip. A bucking foot caught his side and Will fell, but held tightly to the knife.

Hannibal mimicked his actions, stomping on the man’s still grasping hand hard enough to break something, draw a strangled gasp, and then he drove his foot into the man’s chest, then face. The intruder coughed, gasped, and went still. He wasn’t dead, though. Will could see the trembles racking his body, hear his gasping breaths.

“Will,” Hannibal said, and Will struggled to turn his attention from the body to Hannibal. Once he did, though, he was caught. He’d been too angry to properly look at Hannibal, before. Hannibal’s hair had fallen out of it's usual slicked back style, coordinating perfectly with his rumpled suit and disheveled tie. Despite the slight escalation of his breathing, there was a perfectly calm expression on his face. “Will,” he repeated, and Will noticed the hand held out to him.

Without thinking, he set the knife in Hannibal’s palm. Then he watched as the Chesapeake Ripper walked over, kneeled down and sank the blade firmly into the intruder's flesh, just below the belt. A scream accompanied the action, the wounded body giving a single flail of protest, before going still.

There was a man bleeding out between them. The face clicked in Will’s mind, it was that jeweler, Blake, but it barely mattered at that moment. Nothing mattered, not a sound in Will’s head but the percussion of Hannibal’s breath. The sharp line of his nose pointing at his prey drew Will's eye.

Hannibal looked up, and the cold indifference sent a shiver down Will’s spine. Will stood, struggling just a second, due to the pounding in his head. Hannibal twisted the knife before ripping it out. In an idle motion, he used Blake's shirt to clean the knife, then stood as well, gingerly.

“Shit,” Will breathed, and shuffled closer, reaching out, then stopping himself. “Are you okay?”

Hannibal regarded him and his hand, still halfway outstretched. Feeling self-conscious, of all things, Will let it fall back to his side. “I will live. I can’t say the same for him.” Hannibal’s eyes flickered down, but Will didn’t have any more glances to spare for the soon to be corpse. He wanted to blame the lack of feeling on the fact that Blake was a murderer, but Will knew it was because Blake had started a battle he couldn't possibly win with Hannibal. Hannibal was so far above having his life ended by a homophobic jeweler with psychopathic tendencies. That man didn’t deserve to take Hannibal’s life, he wasn’t worthy. All he was worthy of was the death he’d received.

Will stepped closer, and when Hannibal's eyes met him he felt faintly dizzy. “I’m your friend,” he quoted in a shadow of his normal voice, eyes traveling from a smooth forehead, to the space just under Hannibal's nose, settling on lightly parted lips. “I don’t care about the lives you take, I care about your life." This realization hit Will harder than it probably should have, parts of him still wanting to believe himself to be a good, moral person. Blake was dead because he'd suggested Hannibal hunt him, and Will had two feet firmly planted in air, elation softening everything around him.

There was a sharp intake of air, though from him or Hannibal, Will couldn’t tell. The admission was easier to make, in his half dazed state, head spinning, pulse pounding against his skin. Hannibal’s eyes swam in front of him, pupils wide. Will could feel Hannibal's breath fan out across his face, could name the wine it tasted of, if he thought hard enough. Warmth, slow and honey sweet drizzled from the top of Will’s spine down, making his fingers tingle with an urge he was just a touch too disoriented to recognize. Then the warmth settled in his stomach and started to drip lower, and in a sudden rush of horror Will realized he was painfully aroused.

He clenched his hands into fists, embarrassment causing a line of tension to raise his shoulders as he swallowed convulsively, only able to hope Hannibal hadn’t noticed. He was wound up, tight, every second he failed to look away only fanning the flames. Hannibal was tousled in a way Will had never seen, yet he wanted to muss the man still.

Adrenaline, he decided, and forced himself to return Hannibal's personal space, stumbling back.

“You should do something about your leg,” he said, instead of curling his fingers into the fabric of Hannibal's shirt. For a second Will had the absurd thought that the man would be able to smell his excitement, but then Hannibal merely nodded.

“We should look at your head as well.”

Will wondered how many times some random killer had attacked Hannibal in his own home. Not often, he imagined. Or maybe killer’s were horribly territorial, and there were secret murdering gang wars he didn't know about.

Will wondered if he had a concussion.

“Will,” Hannibal said, from closer than he’d been expecting. Will went very still when he felt warm hands on his face, directing his head. Hannibal looked into his eyes, probably with the intention of checking for the very concussion that he'd been worried about, but Will found other ideas racing through his mind. Even though he stared directly at Hannibal's eyes and nowhere else, he found himself picturing the flex of Hannibal's muscles as he took Blake to the ground. Will imagined tracing the outline of every fingertip touching his skin. Hannibal's hands were pleasantly cool.

 _Adrenaline_ , he reminded himself, as eye contact with Hannibal Lecter weakened his knees, _that was all_. He managed a brittle laugh, and Hannibal pursed his lips.

“I’m glad to see you in good humor.”

“It’s just.” Will paused. To admit that he’d been thinking about the way Zeller, Price, even Alana had accused him of being interested in the man would mean admitting that he was very inappropriately aroused. He swallowed, hoping Hannibal didn’t decide to look down, and notice the erection ruining the line of his trousers. Somehow, of all the things he'd imagined going wrong when he first realized Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, unfortunately timed hard ones was not one of them. “Thinking about what to tell Jack.”

The hands on his cheeks were both familiar and foreign. Hannibal's thumbs caressed his skin in light, absentminded motions, and Will's toes curled in his shoes in an attempt to keep still.

Hannibal tilted his head. "What is your name?"

"Will Graham."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday."

Hannibal seemed satisfied. He felt fine, Will reasoned, could walk fine, and the ache in his head was already starting to fade, so he probably was fine. A moment later the hands released Will’s face, and he let out a shaky breath, watching Hannibal turn and limp further into the house.

It took a while, with Hannibal slowed, but eventually they found themselves in the master bathroom, Will more so because he’d followed than from any actual instructions. Thankfully, he was able to calm himself by the time they arrived. He'd never seen the master suite before. It was everything he’d expected it to be. Done in dark browns and blues, art lining the walls, a full set of samurai armor. A fucking fireplace, with a mirror hanging over it. Angled towards the bed.

Psychopaths are narcissists, he thought idly to himself, making his lips curl.

The bathroom was as clean and organized as he'd expect from Hannibal, nothing out of place on his counters. A deep red cup sat charmingly next to the electric toothbrush near the sink, and Will pictured Hannibal gargling. He snorted.

Hannibal got out a large first aid kit from a cabinet, and tugged out a small piece of furniture to sit on that wasn’t quite bench and wasn’t quite stool. He took off his jacket and tie, folded them, laid them on the counter. He rolled up his sleeves. Then he started taking off his pants. Logically, Will knew this was to gain easier access to his wound, but Will still felt heat squirm in this stomach. Hannibal’s underwear looked soft and expensive.

“Are you sure I don’t have a concussion?”

Hannibal moved efficiently, wetting a cloth with water and soap, sitting so he could tend to his injury. “Quite, but I will check again once I am finished with this.”

Will made a noncommittal noise, watching Hannibal’s practiced hands tend to his wound. It looked like a nasty gash, a jagged, vertical slice four or five inches long. He couldn’t tell how deep it was. If it caused Hannibal any discomfort, he didn’t show it.

“What are we going to tell Jack?” Will asked, flinching in Hannibal’s stead when the man swabbed alcohol over the broken flesh.

“Nothing at all.”

“He’ll be disappointed, thinking the killer got away.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Let me worry about Jack Crawford.” It was quiet, for a while, as Hannibal worked. Will frowned when he pulled out a small suture kit.

“Um. Do you need me to?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to stitch myself up.” Hannibal looked nearly amused at the offer. Will supposed, with all his experience doing what he did, it was rather a silly question. “Though, it is the first time I’ve had company.” The barest hint of a smile, just a crinkling of eyes, really, but it was impossible for Will to prevent his lips from curving. “May I ask what your purpose was for coming today?”

Will let out a breath, remembering the split second decision to go to Hannibal. “Oh. I was in the neighborhood I guess.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t lift his eyes from his injury.

“I just felt like stopping by. I was in a bad mood.” It sounded so silly and small, after what had just happened.

“And you were greeted by someone trying to kill you,” Hannibal observed.

Will laughed. “Oddly enough, this has been the best part of my day.”

That smile returned. “Well it is early for dinner, but since you are here, perhaps you might indulge in a small refreshment, once the tidying up is done? A cheese plate, maybe.”

“Yeah. Yeah that sounds great.”

Will helped move the body (and the gun) down to Hannibal’s basement, which he said he’d dispose of later. They cleaned the hall free of blood, and then the sitting room, where the initial confrontation had apparently taken place.

“So what happened?” Will asked after they were sitting in front of the fire, a spread of fine cheeses laid out between them and a glass of wine in their hands.

“Carson Blake broke into my home and held me at gunpoint. I had only just arrived back from my morning appointments and he caught me by surprise.” Hannibal paused to inhale, sip, and the continued. “He ordered me to phone my significant other, you, as far as he was concerned, and grew violent when I reported your phone was off.”

It was off, Will realized. He’d forgotten to turn it back on after his meeting with Jack. He slipped a hand into his pocket to do so then, hoping he hadn’t missed any important calls.

“He was in the midst of attempting to choke me when you rang the doorbell, and he panicked. Your timing was quite fortuitous.”

Will leaned back in his seat. “I’m sure you would have managed without me.”

“True,” Hannibal granted, “Though I much preferred finishing together.”

Some lingering part of Will that still had the sense of humor of a teenager wanted to snicker at the words, and he frowned at his brain for the direction it had chosen, shifting and trying to put his earlier, inappropriate bodily reactions out of his head.

“What will you do with the body?”

“He will not become one of my tableaus, if that’s what you’re asking. Although I did have a few ideas.”

Will glanced over, and found Hannibal watching him. He sipped at his wine to wet his suddenly dry mouth, closing his eyes as the sweet scent filled his nose. “Tell me.”

Will spent the rest of the afternoon in Hannibal Lecter’s house, listening to the man tell dark stories of dismemberment and creation. Repurposing the unworthy into something better than they had been. Blood and bone no longer limited to a prison of flesh.

When he returned home he could still hear Hannibal’s voice in his ear, whispering grim fairy tails that were all too close to a possible reality.

He slept soundly that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This boy, so oblivious. I wanted this to be more sensual than it came out, but... ah, well. Maybe I need to give Will more time. So he's not so terribly clueless


	6. Betraying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will starts to realize he shouldn't trust Hannibal as much as he does. He also comes to another realization that is infinitely more startling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit longer. Enjoy!

 It didn’t take as long as Will thought for them to figure out the jewelry store. Still far too late of course. There was a woman working there this time, watching them move around, noticeably antsy.

“Yeah, Carson stopped showing up for work… about a week ago? I’ve had to take all his shifts. Asshole.” This last part was muttered under her breath, but the no-nonsense expression on Jack’s face made her straighten, clear her throat. “I uh, haven’t seen or heard from him…”

Jack wandered away to let someone else finish interrogating her, dragging Will along with the force of his gaze. “Carson Blake. White male, thirty-five years old, fired from his previous two jobs for discriminating against customers, religious family. He fits the profile.”

“He does,” Will agreed.

“And now he’s gone.”

Will raised an eyebrow.

“The other team has already reported no one at his apartment, he’s not answering his cell phone. Neighbors say they saw him leave his apartment last Wednesday, no one’s sure if he’s been back since then.”

Will looked around the store as if he was seeing it for the first time, inhaling deeply. It was a dangerous game. Hannibal must have watched the place, must have known that Blake would be the only one working that day. Even still, the chance that everything could come crashing down around them remained.

“He could have run. Maybe he knew he was going to get caught.”

“I don’t want ‘could haves’ and ‘maybes’, Will.” Jack’s voice was loud enough to draw attention to their corner of the room, and Will slid his eyes away, jaw clenching.

Rude.

He forced his face to soften, aware of the eyes on them. “That’s what I have for you. If he ran, then he’ll be killing again, probably soon.” The expression on Jack’s face only added to Will’s performance, and he wondered if Jack realized just how easy he was making this. He placed a hand on his arm. “Jack. How’s Bella?” He said it just loud enough. Jack stared at him, brow furrowing.

“Get out of here. I’ll call you when I need you.”

“Jack,” Will tried, but the man cut him off by holding up a hand. It took Will a little extra effort not to appear annoyed.

“What are your plans tonight, Will?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Walking the dogs?”

“The only thing I want you doing is figuring out where this guy would have gone. I want your theories first thing tomorrow morning, are we clear?”

“What about-”

“Are we clear?” Jack either didn’t notice the stares, or he didn’t care. Will opened his mouth, but let it fall shut a second later, turning towards the door.

“We’re clear.”

 

“Jack is losing it,” Will said conversationally over dinner that night. “He stood there and demanded I stay home like I was a misbehaving teenager.”

Hannibal let out an amused noise, knife cutting into the meat on his plate. It was regular beef. Will knew, partly because Hannibal hadn't planned to give Blake his usual treatment, and partly because of the taste.

“Is that the reason for your impromptu request for dinner?”

Will gave him a small, almost teasing smile. ‘Maybe’, it said, and Hannibal’s lips twitched in a matching curve before he lifted his fork to his mouth. Will watched him eat, watched him close his eyes against the flavor.

It was endearing almost, how much Hannibal enjoyed food. How much he wanted other people to. His love for it had expanded Will’s own palate, certainly. Will savored his food with an intensity he’d never bothered to, before. He also had a new appreciation for wine.

Will’s eyes followed Hannibal’s tongue when it caught a spare drop of sauce on his lip, fingers shifting over his silverware. He thought about how much Hannibal must taste, senses refined as they were. Hannibal’s tongue was probably sensitive. To flavor. Talented at picking through the layers of a dish, capable of identifying every ingredient.

“Will?”

“Hmm?”

Hannibal was regarding him with a faintly bemused look, and Will realized he’d done nothing for the past minute but stare at Hannibal’s mouth. His eyes dropped to his plate.

“Are you all right?”

“Just distracted.” Will hoped the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t noticeable. Almost as much as he hoped his staring hadn’t been.

“I asked if you found yourself otherwise occupied, next Friday night. There’s a new exhibit opening at my favorite gallery, and I would be delighted if you’d accompany me in visiting.”

Will’s first instinct was to scoff (softly, of course, it wouldn’t do to make a spectacle of Hannibal’s dinner table, even if it was just the two of them), but when he glanced over and spotted the casual disinterest on his dining companion’s face, Will was reminded of a conversation he’d had with Abigail’s phantom.

Hannibal was good at faking human emotions, but a real one did slip through every once and a while.

“Yeah,” Will agreed after a second, watching the doctor’s non reaction. “All right. But I have a proposition for you, too.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll go with you, if you come fishing with me.” Will got the words out before he could make himself change his mind, and Hannibal’s eyes finally lifted, studying him. For a few moments his face was completely blank, no emotion at the ready, and Will patted himself on the back for once more catching the man off guard.

“In this fishing adventure, would I be observing, or participating?”

Hannibal was considering. Will had another bite of his food before he answered. “Give it a try. If you catch something, I’ll let you observe.” Will’s expression shifted into playful, eyebrows raising.

“‘Let’?” Hannibal quoted, something like amusement leaking into his tone.

Will didn’t respond, merely taking another sip of wine to hide the way his lips curled.

“I will accept your proposition.”

"Good." The quiet clink of silverware against plates hung in the air, and then Will decided to broach another topic. “Any particular reason you’re not inviting Dr. Bloom to to this exhibit?”

Hannibal chewed soundlessly for a moment. “Her tastes are not suited to this particular artist.”

Will’s fingers flexed around his knife. “How much longer do you plan on using Alana?”

“Why do you assume I am using her?”

Sometimes Will didn’t even know why he bothered with questions, so frequently Hannibal returned them with another question rather than an answer. “Because you are.” He hoped his own bluntness would goad Hannibal into being frank.

Hannibal considered him, fork held loosely in hand. “I have a certain fondness for her.”

A fondness that only went so far, Will was sure, like a lapdog you tolerated until they bit your ankles.

“She has begun doubting my character, as of late. I hope to earn her trust back.”

Will snorted. “By sleeping with her?”

Hannibal did not react as quickly as Will hoped, instead blinking almost lazily, eyelids lowering. “Be careful, Will, or I might think you jealous.”

Will frowned. “I don’t want Alana.” Not anymore. Part of him was enchanted by thoughts of what could have been, but he knew he dreamed of an ideal.

Hannibal regarded him, looking unimpressed, and Will was left with the feeling that he’d missed something.

 

 

“I talked to Jack about Hannibal, yesterday.” Alana said as they walked down the hall, freshly scolded, courtesy of said agent. There was a twitch of irritation between her eyebrows, and Will knew a more exaggerated one rested firmly between his own. Jack had that effect on people, lately more so than usual.

Alana's mistake was attempting to call Jack out on it. Will's was continuing to let the man act like his boss despite not technically working for him.

“Yeah?”

“He’s obsessed. And paranoid.”

“Paranoid about what?”

Alana looked at him from the corners of her eyes. “About you.”

Will sighed. “I’m not surprised.

“He told me about your ‘dinner plans’.” Alana stopped walking suddenly, resting a hand on his arm. Will tensed, and knew she felt it. Her palm gave a gentle, smoothing stroke. “I’m glad you called it off, Will. That would have been too far, even for him.”

Will shook his head. “That’s the problem. It wasn’t too far, nothing is. According to the FBI, the Chesapeake Ripper is behind bars, and he still won’t let it go.”

Alana pursed her lips. “According to the FBI,” she repeated. “Not Jack. Not you.”

Will stared at her hard, watching the conflicting emotions cross her face, the confusion. He couldn’t have better timed an interruption.

“Will!” The shout made Alana flinch, and they both turned, seeing Jack storming down the hall. “They found him.”

Will stared. “Blake?” He realized after a second, heart pounding hard in his chest.

“Did he confess?” Alana asked, and Will was irritated at himself for being so surprised, trying to reign in the look of shock on his face. Hannibal said he’d take care of it. Will should have realized the mistake it was to trust him with that. Or had something gone wrong? Hannibal hadn't told him what he was planning...

“He wasn’t able to,” Jack said coldly, and continued down the hall. Alana and he followed, exchanging worried glances.

The body looked stiff and cold with death in a way Will hadn’t seen when he was bleeding out, but it was definitely Carson Blake. Genitalia mutilated, fractured ribs, several broken fingers, bruising. Found in the same place his victims had been found, stigmata in his wrists and ankles, lilies stuffed in the wounds.

“Killed at least a week ago, then moved to where we found him earlier.”

“Assuming this is our guy, could be some kind of vigilante,” Price suggested. Will wasn’t sure how to react.

Zeller cleared his throat. “There is uh, one more thing.” He had everyone’s attention. “We found some prints.”

Will felt frozen, his stomach filling with ice and leaving him unable to move. Hannibal wouldn't be so careless as accidentally to leave fingerprints.

Jack was incensed. “Well then start running them through the system.”

“We did,” Price assured, nearly placating, “And we found a match. Um. They’re Will’s.”

It took all the strength in Will’s body not to grit his teeth. His nostrils flared with anger, hands curling into fists. _That son of a bitch_ , he thought to himself. He could feel the eyes on him, all watching him warily. It would have been child's play for Hannibal to get his fingerprints, from any number of places in the house. He should have been more careful, should have expected Hannibal to exact revenge for Freddie Lounds, no matter how complacent he'd been acting.

“You couldn’t have led with that?” Jack barked.

Will gave his head a violent shake. “No. I-”

“We don’t think it was you, Will,” Price was quick to reassure, but Jack was watching with a scrutinizing eye. “There was one other print, too smudged to get any matches, but whoever it belongs to could also be our guy.”

“Will,” Jack interrupted, and Will was almost surprised by the dark look on the man’s face. “You told me you’d be in Wolf Trap all night, yesterday. With your dogs. You don’t exactly have an alibi.”

  
Will narrowed his eyes, barely able to believe how quickly Jack would turn against him. That son of a bitch, he thought again, sucking in a breath. “Actually,” he bit out, glare hardening, “I was with Dr. Lecter last night. He invited me to dinner, last minute.”

“Someone could be trying to frame you,” Alana mused, but Jack didn't let her finish.

“Dinner lasted all night?”

“Jack,” Alana started.

Price looked nervous. “Maybe we should-”

“Yes,” Will snapped, irritated, not willing to let the suspicion go. “I had too much to drink, so I stayed.”

Jack was relentless, stepping into Will's personal space in an effort to be intimidating. “Would Dr. Lecter corroborate this story?”

“Yeah,” Will said, words an obvious challenge.

“I’m holding you here, Will, just in case."

“Oh Jack, come on,” Alana said, forcing her way into the bubble of tension that surrounded the two men. “You can’t seriously believe-”

“It’s not about what I believe, it’s about what the evidence tells us.”

Will was quick to step in. “Is it, Jack?”

Jack gave him a hard stare, and he returned it with equal fervor, not willing to back down even as he could feel the walls closing in around him. Hannibal was his alibi. He was also his persecutor, and Hannibal was not often inclined towards the truth.

Zeller cleared his throat, him and Price staring resolutely at each other's shoes.

“Graham, with me.”

Reverting to last names now. Will tried not to look like he’d swallowed a lemon as he obediently followed the larger man, shoving his hands into his pockets. That. Son of a. Bitch.

 

  
Will stared through the two way glass at Hannibal fucking Lecter, sitting casual as you please in the interrogation room, legs crossed, leaning back in his chair. Alana was next to Will, a hand on his arm. Next to her was an armed officer.

“This is ridiculous,” she murmured, shaking her head. Will’s stony silence was in character, so he didn’t bother trying to act any differently, though his heated glare wasn’t reserved for Jack. Though he did his best to distribute the fury leaking through his pores at both men in the room equally, even while knowing they couldn't see him.

Alana had told him Jack was getting paranoid. It was obvious the man didn’t trust him to get things done, anymore, didn’t trust their plan. Never mind that Will had thrown the plan to the wayside in favor of a new one, Jack’s behavior was erratic even for him. Bella, then. It had to be.

“Jack,” Hannibal greeted when all the man did was stand and watch him for over a minute. “Is this about the Chesapeake Ripper again? I thought you found your killer.” Hannibal, to his credit, looked just the right amount of wounded that a friend would be so suspicious of him.

“No,” Jack said, lips tightening in imitation of a smile. “Can you tell me what you were doing last night?”

Hannibal pretended to think about it. “Between what hours?”

“Answer the question.”

Hannibal sighed, looking away, towards the glass. Their eyes seemed to meet, but Will knew that was impossible. He felt a trickle of sweat trace the back of his neck.

“Last night, I had an impromptu dinner with Will Graham. I made bacheofe, a meat and vegetable stew. Quite a lovely dish. Usually served in a dough-sealed pot, I used-”

“I don’t care about the recipe, doctor.”

Hannibal’s expression read hurt, but Will could tell he was amused. He was playing with his food. "Will caught me having a chat with one of my neighbors when he came. You can ask them, if you doubt my words."

“What happened after dinner.”

Hannibal looked away. “I arranged the guest room for Will, and he stayed the night.”

Will felt he tension slowly leave his shoulders as his ears ruminated on the truth Hannibal had told, going back over it once more just to make sure he hadn't been implicated.

Jack was disgruntled. “Do your dinners usually turn into sleepovers?”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “Of course not.”

“Why this one?”

“After dinner we had a digestif, and our conversation grew longer than I expected. Will consumed a lot of alcohol over the evening, and it was late, so I offered my bed.”

Guest bed, Will corrected in his head, feeling Alana shift next to him. Embarrassment crawled down his chest.

Truthfully, he hadn’t really drank that much. He probably could have driven home. Thinking about that offer he'd rejected so many nights ago though, when Hannibal asked, he hadn't been able to say no. Pure curiosity. He wanted to see what would happen.

What happened was this: Will showered in Hannibal’s lavish guest bedroom, used his soap and his shampoo. The scents had combined to make a near heady aroma even through the spray, and Will found himself so relaxed by the time it ended he’d nearly dozed off before even putting on the devastatingly soft pajamas Hannibal had left out for him. Then he slept.

“Is Will prone to drinking heavily?” Jack was getting desperate.

“No,” Hannibal said, recognizing the other's state of agitation with glinting eyes. His face changed though, slipping on worry as easy as putting on a hat. “Has something happened to Will?”

“How do you know Will Graham stayed in your house all night?”

Hannibal frowned.

“He could have left and returned in the morning,” Jack reasoned.

Hannibal sucked his lower lip into his mouth. “Will woke me, in the night. Not intentionally. He was having a nightmare.”

Will frowned.

“I was worried about him having another sleepwalking episode, so I locked the door. And after breakfast the next morning, I watched him leave.

Will was unable to recall any of this, and he flushed. He told himself that Hannibal was just lying to make the alibi stronger, but it wasn't so far fetched.

“Will you consent to answering these questions again, under a lie detector test?”

A flash of real annoyance crossed Hannibal’s face. “If necessary.”

“Good.”

“Are we done here?” Hannibal stood, straightening his coat.

Jack didn’t say anything in response, and Hannibal was escorted out of the room a moment later. Or rather, he all but commanded escort by the armed guard with a look. Will watched him go, and then turned towards Alana, who was already looking at him.

“It’s a solid alibi,” she said, a soft frown on her lips.

“Of course it is, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“But someone wants us to think you do. Again.”

Jack came into the room a second later, and were he a cartoon character Will had the distinct impression there would be puffs of smoke coming from his head. Alana stepped in front of Will, obviously fancying herself a white knight.

“Are you happy now? Hannibal said-”

Jack nearly bowled her over with nothing but his words. “You know as well as I do that we can’t trust what Hannibal Lecter says.”

Alana’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Then who can we trust, Jack?”

Will stared at the ground. “Am I free to go?”

Jack and Alana stopped their stare-off to look at him. “Yes”, Alana said, at the same time Jack said “For now”.

 

When he got to Hannibal’s house, the door was open, so he let himself in. It was his first stop once he finally managed to get away from the bureau. The rest of his time was spent practically in a daze, thoughts all swirling and Hannibal there in the center, the eye of the storm. He was restless, antsy, strides long and quick.

Will moved immediately to the kitchen, sure that was where he’d find the man, and he was not disappointed. Hannibal had poured himself a glass of wine. He'd neglected to turn on the light though, leaving the sun shining through the large glass doors behind the counter to fill the room with a soft glow.

Hannibal turned and fixed Will with a smile, leaning against the counter. “Will,” he greeted, and the profiler closed with distance between them so quickly he didn't remember the crossing. Will’s hands found purchase on either side of him, squeezing the dark brown edge of the counter.

“That was brilliant,” Will breathed, a laugh catching the last ’t’.

Hannibal lifted his glass in a mock toast, ducking his head. “I thought you’d approve.”

“The look on Jack’s face, I thought he would pop a blood vessel.” Will’s heart beat fast in his chest, energy racing through him. This must be how Hannibal felt, whenever he got away with blatant cannibal puns in front of the glitterati he kept company with. His hands smoothed over the counter, swaying him an inch closer.

“I hope you weren’t angry for long. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” Will promised, wetting his lips. “I thought- but I should have known. And you, you were so.” Will laughed again. “I was never able to fully appreciate it before, but damn Hannibal, you were incredible.”

Hannibal practically beamed at the praise, eyes softening around the edges. “It was hardly a chore, I didn’t even need to lie.”

He should have known.

Hannibal raised his glass a fragment, and the sweet smell filled Will’s nose as the liquid settled inside. That was when he noticed how he’d positioned himself, boxing Hannibal in. Noticed the reason he could smell the wine so clearly was because they were quite close, very close, getting closer, and Will’s breath hitched on an inhale.

He cleared his throat, backing off, taking a step towards the counter to stand next to Hannibal, rather than whatever the hell he’d been doing. “Alana is starting to doubt.” He felt warm.

“Appropriate. Doubt is a seed. Nurture it, and it will bloom.”

Will snorted. “That was terrible.” His lips twitched, but his mind couldn’t help ticking back to a few moments earlier, when he’d nearly kissed Hannibal. There was no other explanation for the way he’d gotten so close, the way he’d heard his heartbeat in his ears, nerves clench at his stomach. He was afraid to look at Hannibal’s face.

When he did though, the man was drinking from his glass, apparently oblivious. Or maybe he just didn’t care. That was an interesting thought. One he was not particularly interesting in pursuing, at the moment. Not when he was warmed down to his toes and mentally chastising himself so hard he could almost feel physical pain.

“Do you have a suit for the gallery opening?” Hannibal asked, still languidly enjoying his wine.

“I might have something lying around.” Will looked over, eyes catching on Hannibal’s mouth, before he forced them higher. “Did you really lock me in my room?” He needed a change of subject. A distraction.

“For your safety, I assure you.”

“I can’t even remember what I was dreaming about.”

“Not unusual,” Hannibal pointed out. “Although you did call my name.”

Will frowned. “I did?”

“Yes. I didn’t even realize you were asleep until I entered the room.”

“I feel like I slept fine, though… usually my nightmares end in me sweating so hard I have to wash the sheets.”

Hannibal gave a delicate shrug, or at least that was the impression his expression gave, for Will was fairly certain his shoulders didn’t move. “Perhaps it wasn’t a nightmare, then.”

The implication didn’t hit Will until Hannibal stepped away to wash his glass, and he was glad for it, as a steady flush crept up his neck and settled in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Probably was though,” he managed, hating how awkward the words sounded, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Hannibal tilted his head in acknowledgement, and Will was grateful the man’s back was to him as he took a breath.

He’d definitely been missing something.


	7. Taming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal attend the art exhibit, and the evening is more fruitful than Will expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late friday the 13th!

“Hannibal and I ended things.” Alana looked like she didn’t know how to feel about this. Will was pleased, and since there was no coffee to hide the emotion in this time, he instead kneeled to pet Winston, who was winding around his legs. “Well, he ended things. He said he didn’t feel I trusted him, anymore, and that it would be best to remain friends before our relationship fell apart.”

Will managed not to snort, but just barely. “Probably.”

“I just don’t know what to think anymore, Will.” She sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re hiding things from me. Again.”

“Is that why you ambushed me at home?” Will had been mildly annoyed by the intrusion, having already changed into his sleepwear, but upon hearing the reason it was hard to remain upset.

“I wouldn’t call it ambushing.” She tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite land. “I just… I need to know what’s going on. I need a straight answer. All this talking in circles, all these secrets, I just…” She sighed. “I need to know if I… if I ruined a good thing, or if I should be questioning our justice system more than I already am.”

Will paused. “The answer to that is yes, I think.” Alana was hiding it well, but Will could tell from the tiredness in her eyes, the way her lips were slow to curve, that she was upset. About Hannibal. He must have been pretty damn convincing in his boyfriend act, or else he was spectacular in bed.

Will frowned, focusing his mind on the current conversation. “I can’t give you the particulars, Alana, it could cost me my job.” Will inhaled deeply, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But I will tell you that I trust Dr. Lecter.”

She looked up at him, eyes watery. “You seemed so sure.”

Will looked away, letting his hand slip off her shoulder. “That was the point.”

Alana sniffled quietly, and he pretended not to see her hand come up to her face. “Jack’s seemed… unstable lately.”

“Lately?” Will tried to joke, but Alana was focusing on some point far out the window. Will sat down on the floor, inviting Winston into his lap. “Did Margot contact you?” He asked, because the woman seemed in need of a subject change.

“Oh. Margot Verger? Yes.”

Will nodded.

“I haven’t done the patient routine in a while, but we spoke and I told her I’d see her.” She turned, this time managing a small smile that was slightly more convincing. “I could use a change in routine, I think.”

“Couldn’t we all.”

 

The art gallery exhibit was as Will feared. People, people everywhere, all dressed in clothes probably worth more than his house collectively, all with fake smiles and carefully staged laughs. It was so utterly suitable for Hannibal- one grand performance. He was always performing, no wonder he surrounded himself with people who did the same.

Hannibal was dressed somehow more impeccably than usual, suit crisply pressed and following the graceful lines of his body with elegant fabric. Despite Will's best efforts, his own clothes were still covered with dog hair.

The gentle tap tap of hundreds of shoes against the ground beat against Will's ear drums until it was nothing more than white noise, and his eyes traced over long white walls and beautifully patterned floor. There were an abundance of paintings and sculptures to observe, but Hannibal seemed more interested in making rounds.

"Hannibal," one woman greeted, fixing him with a smirk. She was older, but lovely, wrapped in a stunning black and white dress with matching jewelry. Hannibal's human veneer adjusted appropriately.

"Mrs. Komeda, how nice to see you. I thought you said you couldn't make it?"

"Well with how much you raved about this artist how could I miss it?" Her sharp eyes turned to Will next, and he muscled up a passable smile. "And who is your friend here?"

"A friend," Will quipped, feeling more than seeing Hannibal's approval next to him. "Will Graham. Hannibal finally managed to pull me away from work. I don't have a lot of time for worldly pleasures."

Her eyes flashed, slender arms shifting to fold over her stomach. "Such a shame, I'm glad Hannibal was able to convince you to attend."

"I said 'pretty please," was Hannibal's response, and Will didn't have to fake his smile. He looked towards the man for a brief second, and was gratified to see Hannibal looking back.

"Will Graham," Mrs. Komeda hummed after a brief laugh was exchanged between them, "How do I know that name..."

Here it came.

"He was wrongly accused of Frederick Chilton's crimes," Hannibal answered quick and smooth, his hand settling heavy and firm on Will's shoulder. "I'm relieved to see both of them where they deserve to be, now."

The woman gave a soft, scandalized gasp. "Oh, yes! Why, I always knew there was something off about that man. People like that, you can just tell."

Hannibal gave a solemn nod, but Will could see amusement leaking out from under his veneer.

They chatted for a short while longer, the small talk surprisingly easy, before Hannibal ended the conversation with an affable, "I hope you enjoy the exhibit," and walked away, Will following closely behind. He'd already decided he'd be sticking to the man like glue.

"How are you faring?" Hannibal asked, pausing to retrieve the both of them flutes of wine from a passing server.

"Better than I thought I would," Will admitted.

"Excellent. And now that I've fulfilled my social obligations, we may enjoy the gallery at our leisure. Shall we begin at the front?"

The two of them meandered past the clumps of people talking, enjoying the art, and doing both at once, stopping at the first evocative statue installed near the entrance.

Every piece in the gallery was rather dark- literally, done in blacks and blues, purples, with the occasional streak of gold or silver. This statue was a mass of arms, reaching, holding, clawing, embracing, the material used making it seem like each finger was in danger of melting apart at any moment.

"You're right," Will said after a moment, "I can't see Alana enjoying this."

Despite the almost simple concept, there was something sinister in the way the arms twisted around one another, limbs either too long or too short, something unsettling that made Will both want to move away and walk closer. They spoke on it for a time, before moving over to a painting that caught Will's interest.

"I heard you two broke up," he said conversationally, and Hannibal glanced at him.

"Yes, the timing was right. She started to doubt me, and now her doubts lie elsewhere. Our relationship will remain fragile for a time, but it may come back together."

That thought made Will's lips tug down. There was no need to string Alana along like that. It was obvious she wasn't his type. Then again, who was? "Another fixed teacup?" He muttered.

"As it were."

Will tried to refrain from commenting further on the matter. If Alana allowed herself to get sucked back in by Hannibal Lecter's charms she'd have no one to blame but herself. The conversation moved elsewhere, but Will found it suddenly difficult to keep up as his thoughts spiraled outward to topics that were almost related. He still hadn't given much thought to that near kiss, beyond acknowledging that Hannibal was attractive. He'd known that for a while though. Surely not upon first meeting the man, with his too prominent cheekbones, sunken-in eyes, and pouty lips, but Hannibal was like a painting that grew more beautiful the longer you stared at it. It was part of the reason people were so drawn to him. A perfectly put together picture of beauty to hide the ugliness underneath.

Regardless. He was probably just a bit late in recognizing some sort of bisexuality... thing. It wasn't unusual. Will had never been a particularly sexual creature, finding it difficult to connect. He'd experimented of course, but found that most of the time his hand and his imagination would do just fine. When you could barely stand to look someone in the eyes, forming a relationship was hard. That was why he'd wanted to hold Alana so close.

 _Regardless_ , he reminded himself, he couldn't exactly count on a relationship like that, anymore. Not with what the path he'd chosen. He couldn't use people the way Hannibal could, either, couldn't fake that sort of connection.

Will looked over to the man, watching his lips curl around words of praise for the artist, and wondered if Hannibal was even capable of feeling those kinds of emotions. Hannibal was attached to him, but that was different. In him Hannibal saw a companion, someone just like him, equally different. Hannibal was lonely. He wanted someone who could see him, the real him, someone who wanted to stay, even knowing what he was. Will wanted that too.

As far as love went, any psychiatrist worth their salt would say that was impossible, for someone like Hannibal.

It occurred to Will, then, that Hannibal hadn't cared about the almost kiss, because of course he hadn't. He could kiss Alana, he could kiss Will. It would be just one more form of manipulation between them. Will would have to be careful, embarrassingly aware of the way he'd been reacting to completely mundane things Hannibal did, lately. It wouldn't do to let the man realize he was attracted to him.

"Will?"

"Hmm?"

"You seem distracted."

Will laughed. "Just thinking about Alana." It wasn't really a lie.

"Oh?" It was clear Hannibal was irritated at being ignored, as he sipped his wine, and Will felt guilty for letting his mind wander while they were talking. Again.

"I just don't know how you managed to fool her like that."

"I worked very hard to do it."

"She's a psychiatrist, you'd think she would have noticed your lack of enthusiasm."

Hannibal drew in a breath, and Will got the feeling he was growing tired of the topic. "Some see only what they want to believe."

Will shrugged. "I guess."

Hannibal's face went blank, for a moment, before he turned his head. "If you'll excuse me, I see a colleague of mine. Please, continue enjoying the exhibits."

Will watched him walk away. He could tell he was being dismissed, so didn't bother following, but he didn't understand why. Irritated at being left alone, he shuffled moodily over to the next painting. He could feel Hannibal's own irritation, lingering on his skin, and wondered what the problem was.

Will wandered the gallery alone, eventually managing to force thought's of Hannibal out of his mind enough to enjoy the art. Combined with the room's dim lighting and modern design, it really was a nice show. Ignoring the other people milling about, Will almost might have wanted to attend regardless of Hannibal's pushing.

Maybe a half hour later, Hannibal found him in the crowd and began talking as if they'd never been separated.

 

Will left the gallery in a neutral mood, still curious about Hannibal's behavior, but unsure how to ask.

The parking lot was dark despite the street lamps dotted around, and silence filled the space between them as they made their way back to Hannibal's car. Will was frustrated at himself for feeling responsible about the awkward air, positive he hadn't done anything that warranted it. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hannibal beat him to it.

"Did you enjoy the gallery?"

"It was interesting," he replied, tone just a bit clipped.

"Good. I hope you'll consider attending more in the future."

"Hannibal," Will said, and then again when the man gave him only the slightest tilt of the head in acknowledgment. "Hannibal." Will rested a hand on his arm.

Hannibal flinched, though if he hadn't been touching him Will wouldn't have noticed.

Eyes that were impossible to see in the lighting of the lot turned to him, shadowed by the prominence of Hannibal's brow, and Will realized suddenly that he didn't touch Hannibal. Ever. Hannibal touched him readily, but he never reciprocated. It felt strange. He drew his hand back quickly, feeling like he'd ripped open a door that should have remained closed. "I-"

A body slammed into Hannibal's shoulder, making him stagger, and Will blinked at the person who stumbled away.

"Sorry," came a muttered apology, but Hannibal's hand was clasped firm around the stranger's wrist before he could step very far. The grip must have been tight, because a pained grunt slipped from the stranger's lips. He couldn't have been older than twenty, Will thought, woefully underdressed to have been looking at the gallery, clothing oversized and hair purposefully messy.

Will looked at Hannibal, a shudder running through him at the face he saw, devoid of emotion.

"I believe you have something of mine."

The kid looked over his shoulder, then back at Hannibal. "Nah gramps, I don't know what you're talking about."

Hannibal waited.

After a few tense seconds where Will wasn't quite sure what was going on, the kid produced Hannibal's wallet from one of his vast pockets, placing it in Hannibal's outstretched hand.

"Thank you."

The pickpocket's wrist was released, and he whimpered, clutching his wrist against his chest. He looked like he might say something else, but then just scurried away.

"He was one of the servers," Hannibal said, tucking the wallet back into his coat pocket. From anyone else it might have been a casual observation, but Will could feel the weight of those words. Hannibal knew his face, knew where he'd been working, he would be perfectly able to figure out his identity from that.

"No," Will said, before he had time to think about it.

Hannibal was still staring off in the direction the would be thief had run off in. "No what, Will?"

There was danger in the innocuous tone. The small victories he'd managed were not yet sufficient to ensure this one. Will told himself to pick his battles, but he'd already started. He swallowed, willing confidence into his tone. The kid was just trying to make a buck on the gallery's wealthy patrons. Tired of being treated like garbage. He would have regretted taking the wallet five minutes out of the parking lot. "You know what. Not him."

Quiet filled the bubble of tension around them like a balloon, heady, ready to burst at any minute. Around them the other gallery-goers meandered through the parking lot, arms linked, smiles on their faces. Hannibal was not smiling. Will's confidence deflated.

Then Hannibal gave a barely perceptible duck of the head, just so, and continued towards the car. "Come, it's getting late, and you still have the drive home to worry about."

Will stared after him, not quite able to move, knees weak. Will didn't start breathing again until Hannibal turned towards him, obviously curious as to why he was just standing there.

Taking a breath, wetting his lips, Will stumbled into motion.

Will spent most of the night after that trying not to get too caught up in what happened. Hannibal had a reason for everything he did, he had a reason for deciding not to target that pickpocket. It didn't expressly have to because of him.

The thought that it could be, though, was intoxicating. Hannibal Lecter was the apex predator, and he'd bowed his head to Will.

When he finally managed to sleep, it was a restless, fitful thing, dreams tantalizing blurs that he couldn't hang on to no matter how hard he tried, but wanted badly enough to leave him gasping when he woke.

Will blinked hard, jerking his head over towards the sound that had ripped him from sleep. He fumbled to grab his phone from the nightstand, cursing when his tired hand knocked it onto the floor. He heaved himself half off the bed, grabbing the phone and rolling back into the sheets.

"Hello?"

"Will? It's Alana. Sorry to call so early."

Will looked over and checked the time, letting out a sigh. "It's fine, I was just sleeping." He frowned, wondering if that had come out rude. "Um." He cleared his throat. "Is something wrong?"

Alana let out a sigh. "They finished going through everything in Blake's apartment, and they found... trophies, from the other bodies."

"So he was definitely the killer then."

"Yes. They're still not sure who killed him, though. Still looking for evidence that can point some more concrete fingers than his corpse did."

Will sat up, propping his back on his pillow. "Is there a reason you're telling me this instead of Jack?"

Alana's breathing filled the line for a second. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "Jack's been driving himself mad. From what Brian and Jimmy say, he's been a nightmare. There's evidence someone who wasn't Blake was in his apartment around the time they think he died, they're pretty sure that's his killer. Jack hasn't said anything definitive, but he keeps pointing fingers at you."

Will frowned, trying to decide if this was a good or a bad thing.

"I'm worried about him."

Good, then.

"If he keeps up as he has been, he might end up doing something... unwise. Maybe he already has."

Will sighed, staring up at the ceiling and counting to five Mississippis. "I think it's time to come clean."

"Will?"

"I'm sorry, Alana."


	8. Executing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will puts the last piece into play, and watches the dominoes fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things taken directly from the show, I'm sure you'll spot it easily. Will's plan enters it's final stages.

"We can't trust Will Graham."

Alana stared at Jack, keeping her face calm, hoping he realized how paranoid he sounded. Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller stood as well, faces a mix between confused and timid at the predator-like way Jack moved.

"Whatever Hannibal's done to him was too thorough." Jack paced behind his desk, hands pressed tightly against the small of his back. "The Ripper has a new protégée."

"I thought the Ripper had been caught?" Jimmy asked, more to insert himself in the conversation than anything. Zeller gave him a look- best to just stay out of it.

Alana knew they weren't quite sure what to think when Jack had called them in raving conspiracy theories about Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Both of them thought faking Freddie Lounds' death had been too far, but they were just there to do what the boss told them, and Jack could be scary when he was determined. They were still waiting for the big reveal. The logic behind it all. It was getting harder and harder to keep faith when Jack told them all one thing and Will told them another.

Alana sucked on the inside of her cheek, keeping her voice low and non-threatening. "If you have any evidence that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, then you should take it directly to the bureau, instead of trying to handle it yourself."

Jack slammed his hands down on the desk, and Alana closed her eyes. "The Chesapeake Ripper is too good to leave evidence. There's a reason he's never been caught Alana, and he never will be caught unless we can catch him in the act."

Jimmy and Brian exchanged another look.

"Miriam Lass thinks he's been caught," she tried, and watched the way Jack grit his teeth.

Miriam's trial for shooting Chilton had turned into a media circus. Everyone was so quick to forgive the poor victim of the Ripper, held captive for two years. Stripped of freedom, stripped even of free will, arm taken to settle a martyr's jealousy at someone else taking credit for his work. Just another thing to chip away at the hard shell Jack had formed around himself. Alana could see that shell breaking, could see the soft insides exposed.

"Miriam Lass had her mind tampered with."

There was no getting him to see reason, no making him sit down and think. A desperate Jack was a dangerous one. Before Alana could try another tactic, the ominous click of heels down the hall made everyone still. The threatening click clack brought with it the feeling of impending doom, and Alana closed her eyes. She'd hoped to have more time.

Kade Prurnell entered the room, a dark look on her face. "Would you excuse us," she said, voice smooth and strong. Jimmy and Brian wasted no time obeying.

"Dr. Bloom, you may stay."

Alana's lips twitched faintly, at being treated like a child, but she took it in stride, aware of what this meeting was likely about. She didn't blame Will. If he hadn't gone to Kade, she would have.

"Boy, you know how to go out with a bang. What the hell are you doing, Jack?"

Jack looked between Kade and Alana "What I have to do."

"You conspired to violate Dr. Lecter's personal rights. You have no evidence that he's killed anyone, and you orchestrated faking the death of Freddie Lounds, to what end?"

"To gain Lecter's trust."

Kade's eyes were cold and unblinking. "This is outrageous government conduct. You're lucky Dr. Lecter doesn't press charges, and you have Will Graham to thank for that. He saved us a lot of trouble." Kade let out a sigh, closing her eyes briefly and digging her hands hands into her hips. "Dr. Bloom, what is your present opinion of Agent Crawford's mental state?"

Jack's eyes found Alana across the room, but she was watching the floor.

"He's been increasingly frustrated with current cases, quick to jump to conclusions without concrete evidence. Speaking with his team, he's reportedly been losing his temper frequently, and using... unorthodox methods to find validation for his own beliefs."

Kade eyed Jack warily. "You're not thinking clearly, Jack. You're distracted, I understand your wife is very ill. Pending an enquiry, I'm putting you on forced compassionate leave."

Jack narrowed his eyes, straightening to his full height.

Kade did not back down with words nor actions, and then she gave a sharp shake of the head, nostrils flaring. "Dr. Bloom, with me."

Alana ducked her head as they left the room. Kade plowed ahead of her as they entered the hall, harsh fluorescent lights glinting off her pixie cut.

"This is staggering," Kade murmured.

"He was desperate. Jack is in a fragile state of mind. I have to believe that he genuinely felt this was best. Will believed it too."

"Reality doesn't go away if you stop believing in it, Dr. Bloom. It's stubborn like that. The reality of this situation is Jack Crawford was misusing the power of his office. He broke the law, and you and Graham allowed it.

Kade's brisk pace was nearly difficult to keep up with as they blazed a trail down the hall. Alana looked over her shoulder at Jack's door. "He's not going to stop."

"Then we'll have him brought into custody. I won't allow this mess to go on any longer. I want a full evaluation of Jack Crawford and his fitness to be the head of the behavioral sciences division." Kade's eyes were drawn in a tight line.

A horrible sinking sensation boiled in the pit of Alana's stomach. Jack wasn't going to stop. She felt torn between morality and hope, the hope that Jack wasn't too far gone, that this could be pulled back from the edge. She wished Will had told her what was happening from the beginning. She could have watched for the signs, been more careful. Or better yet, warn him against the decisions that led to this point.

 

 

The door was unlocked. Jack wasn't sure why he was surprised by that fact. What did a man like Hannibal Lecter have to be afraid of? Jack could hear sound coming from the kitchen, and that was where he set a course for, each footstep heavy, but not hesitant.

Bella didn't have long. He had nothing to fear, except the possibility of a man like Lecter being allowed to roam free. Of Will letting him.

Jack Crawford had gone home just long enough to kiss his wife for what may be the last time, and then he drove straight to Dr. Lecter's stately Baltimore home. They weren't going to catch Hannibal, he was sure of it. Especially since Will had turned on him. Trying to explain this fact would only make him seem paranoid.

He didn't want to believe that Will would choose blood over justice, but it was the only way to account for the man's sudden change of heart regarding their plan. The way he undermined him in front of the others, how he'd failed to report anything of use ever since he'd called off their dinner. All the time carefully spent, all the sacrifices, the risks. It couldn't be for nothing. There was only so much he could hide from the higher ups, but he'd thought he would have more time. Enough to get substantial evidence.

Now there was only one way to stop Hannibal. Before Will managed to complete his betrayal.

When he entered the kitchen Hannibal was innocuously chopping scallions. He had the nerve to smile. "Jack. I wasn't expecting you." The knife remained in his hand, ever moving, still preparing his meal. He looked relaxed, at ease. Jack doubted his pulse had even jumped, despite the fact he had to know why he'd come.

Jack could hear his heartbeat in his ears, could feel the blood pumping through his veins, calling for him to end this quickly.

Hannibal reached out towards the block of knives, but instead of brandishing one he turned it towards Jack. "Would you care to sous-chef?"

The audacity made him physically sick to his stomach. Hannibal was so sure that he would be found as nothing but innocent, not a care in the world beyond his vegetables. Jack took a breath in through his nose. "I want to thank you for saving Bella, Hannibal.” Somewhere deep within him was regret. Before the suspicion, before the doubt, Hannibal had been, in his eyes, a good man. A good friend.

Hannibal tilted his head. Jack drew his gun.

It was barely in his hand before Hannibal reacted, tossing his knife with startling accuracy and impaling him through the palm. Had he not been aware of who he was dealing with, the move would have been enough to freeze him. Instead, Jack dropped the gun, gritting his teeth and yanking the knife out as Hannibal vaulted over the counter.

Hannibal was no longer man. There was a dead look in his eyes as he moved, efficient, methodical. Jack swung his newfound weapon towards the monster who came after him and narrowed his eyes when it missed. He swung again, Hannibal ducked, and when his arm came back for another try it was grabbed.

They engaged in a dance, and Jack heard his gun skid across the floor.

This was Hannibal's house, all his territory, but of all the rooms Jack would have preferred anywhere but the kitchen. Hannibal was most at home here and it showed. Jack would have to play to his own advantages.

Jack took a deep breath, crouching forwards and charging into Hannibal like a bull, slamming him against the cabinets. Glass shattered, but the move didn’t disorient as much as he’d hoped. Hannibal had his bearings moments later.

Jack managed to block his hit, throwing the man over the counter. That proved to be a mistake, as Hannibal armed himself with a tea kettle and swung hard. Jack staggered back, barely avoiding the blow. He lifted Hannibal bodily again, teeth gritting with frustration.

 _Stay down_ , he begged inside his mind, _just stay down_.

Hannibal didn’t. He was stronger than Jack would have thought, and Jack was getting tired. After a second more of close combat they separated, both realizing the advantages of a weapon.

Jack chose the knife, and Hannibal, curiously, reached for an apron, wrapping his hands around both ends. Jack stabbed, Hannibal retreated, again, again, until the fabric was being wrapped around Jack’s arm, incapacitating the limb. One blow from Hannibal’s knee and the knife flew free from his grip.

Hannibal chose that moment to aim a punch at his face, and Jack went down. He panted, crawling to his knees, struggling to stand. Disoriented, dizzy, he didn’t see the refrigerator door aimed for his face until it was too late.

Swallowing, he managed to stand, drawing his fists up to defend himself. Hannibal had a knife now. Jack’s heart ached at the unconcerned look on Hannibal’s face, like he were being mildly inconvenienced, instead of fighting for his life.

Jack jabbed, Hannibal avoided, until the man slammed him back against the counter with a hand at his throat. The knife reeled back, and Jack scrambled, the cutting board registering in his peripheral vision. He snatched it up and barely managed to block the weapon, flinching when several inches of cold steel slid through the wood before being stopped.

They wavered against each other’s strength, Jack’s heart pounding, strained noises leaving his mouth, before he managed to toss the knife impaled cutting board to the side, and with it, briefly, Hannibal. Jack stood quickly, adrenaline the only thing keeping him going, grabbing the man and flipping him with a strained cry.

_Stay down. Dammit Hannibal just stay down._

He did, for a second. Jack grabbed his collar, lifting the man just enough to aim a punch at his face. Knuckles hit cheek, and Jack stared wide-eyed, feeling the advantage returning.

He needed something to finish the job. His tie caught his eye, and Jack looped it around Hannibal’s neck and tightened the fabric. A brief, choked noise escaped from Hannibal’s lips- the first sound he’d made since the fight began.

Jack pulled. Hannibal writhed, but Jack didn't let go, knowing so many lives depended on him ending the one at his mercy. He could feel the fight leaving Hannibal's body, victory within reach.

"Jack stop!"

Alana Bloom's voice registered in his head, but Jack blocked it out, gritting his teeth, focus absolute. A shot rang out. Jack stumbled, his hold on loosening as pain bloomed up his leg. He went down on his knee, concentration wavering. Another shot, and he was forced to let go, ache staggering and absolute.

"Oh my god." Alana ran over, taking in Hannibal coughing, regaining his breath, Jack bleeding out on the floor. Because of her. She had only been trying to incapacitate.

"Alana," Hannibal said, holding out a hand.

She helped him up, and he staggered. It was wrong to see Hannibal like this, broken, bloody. Her mind was dragged back to the night he'd nearly died, and she let out a sob, arms tugging him closer. "Hannibal, I'm so sorry."

"Did you call the police?"

"Yes, Yes I, I-"

Hannibal shushed her quietly, running a comforting hand down her back. Alana shuddered, relaxing into the hold. Jack was on the ground, possibly unconscious. His eyes were open but they weren't focusing on anything.

"It's all right. I'm going to try and stop Jack's bleeding. You need to wait for the police."

"I can help," she started to say, but Hannibal shook his head.

"You're in no state to." He was right, her hands were trembling. She didn't know how he could be so composed. Former surgeon, she reminded herself, he was no stranger to crisis situations. Even after Jack had attacked him, he would still try to save his life. How wrong they'd been. "Alana," Hannibal said, a pained look flitting over her face. "Jack spoke to me before he attacked. Tell the police they need to get to... get to wherever Chilton was hiding Miriam Lass. Immediately."

"Why?" She didn't understand. Underneath the calm a hint of desperation leaked through as Hannibal spoke.

"Abigail's alive."


	9. Reveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has one last surprise for Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will sort of switch focus here if I can get out what I have planned next. Been having a bit of trouble with chapter 11...

Will found himself in varying states of disbelief once he heard the news. He kept looking over his shoulder, as if any moment someone might tell him it was all an elaborate ruse. He'd already received calls from Zeller and Price, both equally shocked, both mourning, but they spoke with the resignation of two men who had already accepted the turn of events.

The Plan worked, and Will was both smug and paranoid about that fact. Turning everyone against Jack had nearly been too easy, considering the man's attitude, the things he'd done, the things he'd sanctioned. It was simple to play the victim, the worried friend following along with the ruse in order to ultimately try and save Jack from himself.

  
_"How long have you and Jack been keeping this from the bureau?"_

_Will grit his teeth, letting out a slow sigh. Frustration, he didn't need to fake. "Since Chilton was arrested," he said, feeling distinctly like he was repeating himself. "Jack was obsessed with the idea of Dr. Lecter being the Chesapeake Ripper."_

_"I wonder why," Prurnell said dryly, and Will's nostrils flared._

_He stood in her office, feeling like a high schooler come to the principal. It was minimally decorated, no photos or arbitrary pieces of artwork. Just stacks of files and neatly arranged pens. There was no chair before her desk, as if she didn't want people who stepped in to get the wrong idea and stay too long._

_"I'd just recovered from encephalitis and was being accused of murders I didn't commit," he said firmly, since it seemed like the woman needed a reminder. "Hannibal fit the profile. I couldn't see beyond that." Will bit his tongue, reminding himself to stick with the man's title, not his name._

_"When did you start?"_

_"I resumed my therapy with him, once I got out of jail... originally with intentions to prove I was right, but, he helped me see me see my obsession for what it was."_

_"And what was that?"_

_"Desperation. I was so mad at Dr. Lecter for perceived wrongs I didn't want to hear that it was anyone else's fault. Jack believed me too, despite the fact that I had no real evidence." Will sighed. "That's when things got messy."_

_"Messy," Kade repeated. She stood, a sort of calm fury on her face that made her small stature look much more menacing than it should have. "You call a federal agent faking a woman's death and actively encouraging murder to be 'messy'?"_

_"I wanted to hope he would stop before he went too far." Will swallowed, staring down at his shoes. "But... I think Jack framed me for the death of Carson Blake. I’m not positive, just a feeling, but he's gotten more and more unstable, lately."_

_"You should have come to me with this before," she snapped, "Or better yet, stopped him from doing it at all."_

_"He was my friend."_

  
The mix of euphoria and caution was an intoxicating cocktail of sensations swirling around in his mind. He ignored it as he moved briskly through the sterile white of the hospital walls towards Hannibal's room, in favor of focusing on the worry.

Hannibal was fine, of course, no serious injuries, but he wanted to see for himself the extent Jack had done. And a patient of Dr. Lecter's, a friend who felt responsible for what happened, he would be the picture of concern. So that was the portrait he painted.

When he stepped into Hannibal's room the man's eyes were closed. He should have looked frail in the hospital gown, covers folded neatly at his waist, but instead he just looked like a great lounging lion, resting after a kill. Will allowed his lips to twitch up, taking a few steps inside the room.

Hannibal's nostrils flared, and he smiled. "Hello Will," he greeted without opening his eyes.

  
_"When I talk to Kade Prurnell, she's going to suspend Jack, and you know where he'll go first. Will you be ready?" Will stared at Hannibal as he buttoned up his coat, fingers hesitating with each hole. He should have left an hour ago, yet here he stood, hashing over details they’d already talked into the ground._

_Hannibal regarded him with amusement. "Yes."_

_"I can't be here," he pointed out, frustrated at the flippancy. "Jack is a trained agent Hannibal, don't underestimate him."_

_"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried."_

_Will grimaced. "We didn't come this far just for you to be killed by Jack Crawford."_

_Hannibal took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His hand rested, sure and warm on Will's face. "Dear Will. You've put things together so carefully. I'll see your design through."_

_Will's breath stuttered to a halt, caught in that warmth. He didn't want to examine the reason, didn't want to think about how, seeing, and touching, and smelling the man before him made him want to taste, too._

_"Right, yes, okay. I'll. Goodbye."_

  
Will pushed away the memory, stepping deeper into the lion's den. His eyes caught the chair by Hannibal's bed.

"You've just missed Alana," he said by way of explanation.

"Ah." Will took a seat, letting out a light sigh. He stared at the door for a second, before turning to Hannibal. Unable to help it, a smile spread across his lips. Hannibal regarded him with fondness. There was a lightness in this moment, a freedom. He felt free.

"I should be released in a few days, they just want to keep an eye on me."

Will nodded, already aware. He turned more towards Hannibal in his chair, letting out a sigh. "Did Jack really die from the gunshot wounds?"

"That is what his autopsy will say."

Will didn't care either way, but he was curious. He'd accepted that this would likely end with Jack dead. It was certainly the easiest option. The safest option. He nodded, eyes falling from Hannibal's face, to his hand on the side of the bed. An urge came over him to take hold of it, and Will's gaze jerked up to Hannibal's chest, instead.

He didn't know where his sense of self preservation had gone. Wanting to kiss Hannibal, to hold his hand, craving the other's touch didn't make any sense. The game they played was dangerous enough without adding some sort of confusing attraction to the mix.

 _Attraction doesn't make you want to hold someone, not like that_ , a traitorous voice whispered, but he ignored it.

“Will,” Hannibal said, and he lifted his eyes higher, to lock their gazes. The emotion there was overwhelming compared to how much Hannibal usually kept hidden. Will stopped breathing at the sudden opportunity to see, reading pride, a touch of smugness, something else, so terribly fond.

“It worked,” Will blurted, because he could feel the celebration that fizzled in Hannibal’s expression, and it was contagious. Hannibal got away with murder quite often, but there was no one to revel in that fact when he returned home. Euphoria trembled underneath Will’s skin as he let himself focus on the victory, a smirk of his own warping his lips.

Time stretched. Will thought he could have sat there the entire visit, holding silent conversations with Hannibal’s eyes. Then Hannibal’s brown gaze flicked somewhere over his shoulder. “It appears your other surprise has come to visit.”

"Will?"

That voice. Will blinked hard, certain he was imagining things. He could hear someone coming in the room, so he turned. A flash of brown hair, a glimpse of wind-chaffed skin, and he froze.

"Will?" Abigail looked nervous, but there was a small smile on her face. She advanced, and he was aware he was gaping, but he was unable to stop doing so. The teenager shifted nervously. ”I didn't know what to do, so... I just did what he told me."

Will stared, barely breathing. Abigail was in a hospital gown, too. She had her hair pulled back, and he could see the scar where her ear had once been, the faint line on her neck where Garrett Jacob Hobbs had almost killed her. Abigail was standing in front of him, real, flesh and blood. Will's eyes looked to Hannibal, relieved to find his eyes fixed on where the young woman stood as well, half convinced she was another illusion from the recesses of his mind.

Abigail frowned. "Are you mad?"

"No, no." Will swallowed, struggling to get out words. "What... how..." He looked back at Hannibal, who looked terribly smug.

"You couldn't be the only one mending teacups."

Abigail was alive. Will took a centering breath, repeating his question. "How?"

"Chilton," Hannibal said the name with relish, "had been keeping her alive all this time, and was unable to finish his plans for her when he was captured. Jack found her during a solo trip to the hideaway searching for more clues and stayed silent about it, because she would confirm what he was trying to disprove. That Chilton was the Chesapeake Ripper."

Will stared at Hannibal, amazing, wonderful, seriously reconsidering his stance on kissing the man. Hannibal couldn’t have known what Will would do, what he’d choose, once he got out of prison, but he’d kept Abigail waiting. Alive. For him. For them.

 _'We are her fathers now,'_ echoed in his head.

He’d asked himself if he could ever forgive Hannibal, for taking Abigail away. Now he didn’t have to. It was impossible to convey everything he was feeling in that moment with a look, but he gave it his best try, widened eyes falling willfully into Hannibal's smile.

The silence lasted until Abigail broke it. "Should I leave you two alone?" She sounded amused.

Will looked away, towards the sheets, trying to ground himself in the patternless fabric. "No, sorry, no. Tell me what you two have really been doing.”

“I taught Abigail how to play the harpsichord,” Hannibal announced, clearly proud of himself. Abigail came and sat on Hannibal’s hospital bed, hip brushing the man’s leg, comfortable, unafraid. She knew what he was- what they were, yet she sat with a smile on her face.

Some part of him, the part that had gotten quieter and quieter since his decision to betray Jack, wondered if Hannibal had perhaps done something to her mind, to force that sort of loyalty. The rest of him snuffed it out with the firm thought that he didn’t care. It wasn’t beyond Hannibal’s ability or morals. The darkness in Abigail may or may not have simply been black enough to tolerate their wickedness. Whatever the reason, he didn’t care. She was alive, and well, and with them.

“I’m not very good,” she demurred, and Hannibal tilted his head.

“Do you think I am ‘good’ at everything I do from the first try?”

“It’s crossed my mind,” Abigail quipped, and Will let out a breathless, carefree laugh.

Family. This was family.

 

_**When Good Guys Go Bad** _   
_Freddie Lounds_

_One of the most present fears in modern society is the fear of being unable to trust the big players who run this game we call life. With that much power, what happens when someone wielding it decides they know better than the law? This reporter says murder._

_Jack Crawford, head of the behavioral science division of the FBI, was recently shot and killed by one Dr. Alana Bloom, while he was trying to end the life of former Chesapeake Ripper suspect Hannibal Lecter. My previous reports on Lecter painted him as a man capable of far more than he pretends to be (astounding, considering he is not a modest man). This opinion stands, but as of now there is no evidence that points towards him being anything other than an eccentric narcissist._

_Jack Crawford saw differently. After growing obsessed with the Chesapeake Ripper case, he was not satisfied when the accused Frederick Chilton was captured and identified by eyewitness Miriam Lass. Working with neurotic FBI profiler Will Graham, Crawford began setting a trap for who he thought the real Ripper to be._

_This trap included but was not limited to faking the death of yours truly, keeping a young woman believed to be dead alone and isolated to perpetuate his delusions, and attempting to goad Lecter into committing murder._

_As time passed and no evidence of Lecter’s guilt showed itself, the fragile, fraying rope of Crawford’s mind began to snap. With his wife suffering through her last days of stage four lung cancer, it’s no surprise that his grief began to reflect in his professional life. Co-workers reported him being agitated, quick to anger, and quick to accuse._

_A search of the agent’s house after his death revealed evidence that Jack Crawford was responsible for the death of the Mattel Murderer, Carson Blake. Killing a killer is still a crime, no matter how many people were outraged by his actions._

_Will Graham tells me that when the body of Blake was found, his very own fingerprints were strewn around the neck, despite him spending the entire night locked in a room in Hannibal Lecter’s Baltimore home. The two’s questionable (and undoubtedly sexual) relationship aside, the alibi held up. Jack Crawford, however, was under the impression that Graham would be remaining in his Virginia home that night, and apparently decided it was the perfect time to strike, and frame his supposed friend._

_Was Crawford even truly conscious of his actions? Or was his killing simply emotional backlash from being unable to catch the man he believed to be a murderer, all while his wife lay dying? The truly horrible part of this story is the terminally ill wife he left behind. Now hospitalized, she has to hear the devastating news of her husband murdering and mutilating a fellow human being under their own roof, while she was too sick to move._

_A tragic tale, but Jack Crawford was not the first, and he will not be the last federal agent to snap when pushed too hard. My bets are on Will Graham next._

 

“Will,” Abigail greeted when he came to visit the next day. He sat down the ‘get well soon’ present he’d bought on the little tray over her bed, offering a sheepish smile.

“Morning. Uh, afternoon. I brought you something. Nothing special.”

Her bright eyes sparkled with good humor. “I’ll lower my expectations,” she said as she pulled the package closer, unwrapping it with eager fingers. “A song book?” She flipped through the pages, and Will cleared his throat.

“Well, I remembered you said you were learning the harpsichord, and while I’m sure Hannibal’s selection of sheet music is impressive, I thought you might enjoy learning some more modern stuff.”

She laughed. “‘Impressive’ is one word for it.”

They shared a look, and Abigail broke it first, checking the table of contents in her gift. Will pulled up the chair in the corner and sat, smoothing his hands down his legs. There was a light tension lingering in the small of his back, worry with just a dose of awkward, and he grimaced. “So how’s it been… seeing people? Other than Hannibal.”

“It is good to be alive again,” Abigail admitted, setting the book down. “I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew I could trust Hannibal.” After a second she shrugged, lips twisting into a rueful grin. Her sharp eyes caught his, and he felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. “To a point. You thought he killed me, right? And you still forgave him.”

Will swallowed, dragging his gaze to his lap. “I…”

Abigail laughed. “It’s okay, Will. I get it. I was able to forgive my father, too, eventually.” For a second, her eyes were far away, but she seemed to catch hold of her thoughts, shifting her gaze to settle on Will’s face. “Love lets us do things like that.”

Will nearly choked. “Um. Hannibal and I aren’t- we don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Abigail snorted. “And you think I had that kind of relationship with my dad? There’s all kinds of love.”

“Oh. Right.” Will sunk further into his seat, quite positive from the barely there smirk on her face she’d done that on purpose. Clearly Abigail had been spending too much time with Hannibal.

Hannibal, who had taught her how to play the harpsichord, and of course he couldn’t let her fall behind in her studies, who’d cooked for her, tried to expand her palette, and casually informed her every day, what, precisely, he and Will Graham had done that might eventually lead to her rebirth.

As far as apologies went, this was a damn good one. Maybe he did love Hannibal Lecter. He loved a lot of his friends, Will reasoned. Well, he didn’t really, but other people did, and that meant the excuse functioned as needed.

Will shook his head, reminding himself of the reason he'd chosen to visit Abigail first. One of them anyway. "Abigail," he said, partly to get her attention, partly so she could hear the serious note in his voice and prepare herself accordingly. Will's eyes rose to stare at the rail that lined the bed. "You know what Hannibal is capable of."

All that time, exposed to no one but Hannibal, and she still seemed to be functioning fairly well. Of course, Hannibal would have taught her to perform. Taught her how to create her own set of stock human emotions to call up at a moment's notice. The thought almost hurt. "Are you... really all right going back to stay with him? You're 'alive' now, you can go wherever you want. You're a legal adult in this country."

When Will risked a glance at Abigail's face, she was already watching him, pensive. Her eyes wandered up, he could see her sucking on her teeth. "I know Hannibal's not…” She glanced at the doorway, frowning. "I know he's wrong. Maybe it's because of my dad, or maybe I'm just messed up too, but... some part of me doesn't care. I'm not trying to replace my dad or anything." She struggled for a moment, reiterated. "I know it's wrong, but some part of me thinks what he does is better. In a way."

Will let out a slow breath, and her eyes lifted up just briefly to meet his. Her voice was low, nearly a murmur, to prevent unwanted parties from hearing, and he leaned in close to catch every word.

"My dad killed girls who look like me. With Hannibal, it’s not a need, he doesn't kill because of some compulsion, he just does."

Will wondered if these were Abigail's own insights, or if Hannibal and her had spoken about this. "So it's better to kill because you happen to feel like it, than because you can't help yourself?"

Abigail laughed, genuinely, and what was left of Will's moral center mourned for the girl she might have been, before all this madness. "To society? I don't know. To me... yes." She fiddled idly with the nails on her left hand. "He took me hunting, once."

"He." Will sucked in a breath. Of course Hannibal had, though. He wanted to drag everyone down to his standard of living. Or was that elevate?

"I asked him to," Abigail said, voice strong. "I wanted to see what it was like. He let me pick."

Will wanted to ask who she'd chosen, who Abigail Hobbs had deemed worthy of death.

"I couldn't go through with it." Abigail drew her knees to her chest, but she didn't look frightened, or confused. Will could read light frustration, and a sense of awe. "Hannibal had to help me. Watching him..." She swallowed. "Watching him do that, I realized what it meant, that he actually cares about me. About us. When he's like that, you'd swear he doesn't feel anything at all." She tilted her head. "He gets lonely too, you know. He's picky about his company, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want it."

"I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak of Hannibal Lecter with such certainty." Will envied that, regardless if her speculations were true or not.

Abigail's lips twitched up. "I think next time," she said, "I'll be able to do it myself."

"Hannibal would be proud."

Abigail's smile grew an inch. The thought of Abigail taking a life should have been repulsive. It was all so wrong. He should be telling her to run and never look back. But It was impossible to lament Abigail's words, as much as he told himself he should. Impossible to blame Stockholm syndrome for her desire to please Hannibal, because as Abigail was, she fit between them all too perfectly.

_'We're her fathers now.'_

He would teach her how to fish, and how to beat a man to death with bare fists, and Hannibal would teach her the harpsichord, and how to surgically remove organs from the human body. A well rounded education if he'd ever heard of one.


	10. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will embarrasses himself. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think... I THINK chapter 11 will be up tomorrow. Depending on how long it takes me to get things going there should be about 5 more chapters, but we'll see~ 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments, you guys are the best. I'm so happy you're enjoying my silly little ideas.

_Will grimaced. "We didn't come this far just for you to be killed by Jack Crawford."_

_Hannibal took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His hand rested, sure and warm on Will's face. "Dear Will. You've put things together so carefully. I'll see your design through."_

_Will wet his lips, heart pounding loud in his ears. He took the step required to close the distance between them, Hannibal's hand sliding back, into his hair. "Will," he repeated, though to what end Will wasn't sure._

_Their lips met in a smooth brush that was strange in how utterly natural it felt. A shudder shook Will from his scalp down to his toes, and he pressed closer, hands finding the bottom of Hannibal's suit jacket, sliding up, over warm skin through the conspicuously orange shirt fitted neatly over it. His mind was alight with thoughts of what that skin would feel like without any barriers._

_Hannibal dug his teeth into Will's lip, just a touch too hard, and the profiler gasped, tongue lashing out in retaliation. Their kiss was a spine-tingling contradiction, violent, teeth nipping, sending shocks of pleasure curling down Will's stomach, and gentle, almost playful sucks that made Will hungry. He wanted to devour Hannibal whole._

_"Will," Hannibal grunted, this time because Will was pushing him back, back, until Hannibal was pressed against the wall, until Will was leaning into him, desperate, mouths colliding, increasingly needy. "So eager to feel me against you.” Hannibal’s voice was nearly composed._

_Will wanted to change that. He moved his mouth to a firm jaw, tasting Hannibal's skin, motivated almost entirely by the want to hear more, words alone enough to make his skin feel hot. There was something about Hannibal’s voice that held power over him, whether it be to calm or incite, and now it was stimulating him so very thoroughly Will ached._

_"You like the idea of having me here, don't you?” Hannibal sounded slightly less composed. “Here in the foyer, knowing I wouldn't let anyone else be so crude.”_

_"Fuck." Will buried his teeth in Hannibal's neck, relishing the tremble that fluttered across the man's shoulders. Hannibal shifted, knee pressing between Will's legs, and making his hips jerk forward. His pants were entirely too tight, but there was no time to do anything about it, not with the urge to touch as strong as it was. Will's hand moved to flick open the button's on Hannibal's jacket, palm spreading across a warm stomach, breath coming in shaky puffs. His fingers dipped lower, tracing the zipper on tailored pants, then even lower. Hannibal was just as hard as he was. Will cursed, bursts of heat swirling in his body making his knees weak. Hannibal was barely breathing, now._

_Will fumbled to get a hand in those expensive slacks, underneath the soft underwear. This first intimate touch between them, the way Hannibal felt in his grip had him shuddering, gasping, like he was the one with his cock out. Hannibal arched, head falling against the wall with a thump._

_"Will." He still sounded entirely too calm, but the way he swallowed, inhaled, the way his length pulsed in Will's palm betrayed him. When Will squeezed, Hannibal's hands moved around him in a sudden, desperate frenzy, touching everywhere, as if he suddenly had several more limbs at his disposal._

_Will moaned and sought blessed friction against Hannibal's thigh. His hand pulsed up the other's hard length, aware that the motions were a touch too rough, too dry, but unable to resist, captivated by the way Hannibal's breathing grew gradually faster, the way his body twitched and rocked against him. Will found the movement of his own hips growing more needy, the pressure intoxicating in it's simplicity, in the fact that it was_ Hannibal _letting him do this._

_"Will you come like this, without even being touched? Rutting against my thigh like an animal?" There was a tremor in Hannibal's voice, but instead of making it weaker it only seemed to tighten the hold it held over Will._

_Will felt need coil deep in the base of his spine. His thumb teased the slit in Hannibal's head, already slick. He spread the fluid around, using it to make his pumping easier. "Hannibal," he groaned in a shadow of his usual voice._

_Hannibal gripped him tight, head drooping forward. "Will," dropped from his lips again, but this time it was a moan, this time Hannibal shivered, and Will's hips spasmed, heat surging up his length as light burst behind his eyes, he was going to come, he was, fuck-_

Will opened his eyes, flinching. It took him a moment for his brain to parse the obscene movie that had been playing in his mind with the current situation, breaths coming hard. His face was flushed, he was so warm. And desperately, achingly hard. After blinking twice, he saw Hannibal laying peacefully in his hospital bed, sleeping. 

He was in Hannibal's hospital room.

Panic overtook him, and he quickly stood, then sat back down, shrugging out of his jacket and quickly pressing it into his lap, flinching at the light pressure against his arousal. He thanked every deity he didn't believe in that Hannibal wasn't awake.

Once he managed to calm a little he managed to work out why, exactly, he’d fallen asleep, recalled visiting Hannibal with Abigail, the pleasant, easy conversation. Abigail was dragged back to her room eventually, by a stern looking nurse with bright red lips. Will was sad to see her go, but the emotion was tempered by knowing she was right down the hall. He and Hannibal continued talking for a time, but the drugs made Hannibal sleepy, and the low, even pitch of his voice had apparently lulled Will off as well.

And he'd had a dream.

Will stared at Hannibal's sleeping form, heart pounding as he considered what would happen if he woke up, what he'd say- what did he say? He'd had a dream about Hannibal- a fantasy, he'd fantasized about- fuck.

A frustrated noise slipped past his lips, and he shifted, taking a deep breath. Despite his horror, his erection didn't want to leave. Mortified, confused as he was, he ached, restrained in his slacks, sure it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes to set him off. Tantalizing moans of his name echoed in his ears. "What the hell," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He was pent up, he assured his frazzled brain. Some time alone tonight with his hand and he wouldn't be waking up in the middle of an erotic dream about Hannibal, of all people.

"Will?"

The ecstasy soaked echo was suddenly all too real, and Will jumped, hastily grabbing at his jacket as his erection throbbed hard enough that for a moment, orgasming in front of Hannibal Lecter became a genuine fear. Hearing Hannibal's voice in person after his vulgar fantasies made the muscles in his thigh's tense, heat spiraling down his stomach, and it had only been one word. 

Hannibal was still laying down, but his head was turned as he regarded Will, eye's hooded sleepily. The sight reminded Will too much of his dream. He dropped his gaze to Hannibal's mouth, needing to shift it again when he pictured it moving over his. "Er, morning." It was still late afternoon, but the sentiment seemed appropriate.

Hannibal's eyes crinkled in amusement. "I apologize, I must have dozed off. I assure you it was the medication they insist on giving me and not your company."

"Ha." This was quite possibly the worst moment of his life. _Mental hospital_ , he reminded himself, _Abigail's ear_. It was still up there. Will shifted uncomfortably, sinking further in the chair, wondered what the chances were of him sliding out without Hannibal noticing. Slim to none, probably, the observational son of a bitch.

The thought of Hannibal seeing how aroused he was, the thought of his face twitching in surprise, of what he might do, should have dampened his arousal, not make it more intense, not make tingles thread through his skin. He willed the embarrassment from his face, swallowing hard. His boxers felt damp.

"I am surprised to see you here still here, though. Watching me sleep can't be terribly interesting."

"I wasn't watching you sleep," Will was quick to correct, focusing all his efforts on keeping his face calm and even. Still, he could see Hannibal's interest pique at his tone. _Relax_ , he thought, hard, forcing his muscles to do so, _relax_."I dozed off too, for a bit."

"I see." Hannibal's eyes dropped casually to his jacket, and Will's hips twitched, breath catching. 

Will tried to casually adjust the fabric, feeling entirely too warm. 

"It might be best to return home now, before it gets too late."

"Yeah," Will agreed, but he didn't stand. Fuck.

Hannibal turned his head forward again, neck probably tiring of the angle.

"I shall enjoy being freed of this place. The slop they call food does not agree with me."

Will's lips tried to curl despite himself. This was good. It couldn't be too hard to keep Hannibal talking until he calmed. "I'm sure that's been the worst part of this whole experience for you." It was sad that sentence did not require sarcasm. "Maybe I could bring you some chicken soup. Wouldn't be as fancy as yours was, but."

"You needn't trouble yourself. Certainly you have obligations other than visiting me for hours. I'm afraid until I'm released I won't be very good company."

"You are. Good." Will wet his lips, trying to salvage the wreck of words. "They're still figuring things out at the bureau, and I won't be starting classes again until next semester. I don't exactly have places to be."

"A consideration of gas, then. This hospital is not in a convenient location for you to be visiting daily."

Will shrugged. "I like driving."

"Certainly your dogs would appreciate the company."

"Are you trying to talk me out of visiting?" Will stared at the other, bewildered.

"Not at all. Rather, wondering how many excuses you would make before simply admitting you simply want to see me." A pause, then, "And Abigail."

Will pressed his lips together, drumming his fingers against his legs. "I'm not making excuses," he said, just to argue. "I'm still... celebrating success. There's color in the air I don't think I've ever seen before. It's only right to revel in the tints and shades together, wouldn't you agree?"

The corners of Hannibal's eyes crinkled, soft and human. "I would. So shall I expect you tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah." That sounded like a goodbye. Will sucked in a breath, lamenting his overactive imagination. He'd get home, he'd jerk off, he'd be fine. 

"I'll look forward to it."

"Yeah." Fuck. He should have at least started to soften, by now. There was absolutely nothing arousing about the humiliation he'd have to endure if Hannibal saw him sporting an erection in the middle of a hospital room like some sort of hormonal adolescent. 

"Goodbye, Will." Hannibal closed his eyes, and Will seized the opportunity, moving from the room as fast as he could without it being labeled bolting. 

"Fuck." Will slipped into the bathroom, closing himself in a stall and taking a deep breath. This was getting ridiculous. He hadn't gotten laid in a while, that was all. He was lonely, and horny. That much was obvious. If he wasn't careful, he'd have to sit through Hannibal's professional opinion of his sex life. Hannibal had already invaded every other aspect of his life, that was one he'd rather keep private.

Will repeated this mantra as he started the long trip back to Wolf Trap.

 

Despite this, when he touched himself in the shower that night, even though he tried to keep his thoughts blank, the lingering echo of Hannibal's moan made him spill into his hand quick enough to make his head spin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_Dr. Hannibal Lecter_ **

_requests the pleasure of your company for dinner_

 

Will stared at all the different produce and meat laid out in neat rows, taking in a deep breath. He squinted down at the list he held again, wondering if Hannibal intended on sending him back if he got something wrong. It was very likely.

It had been nearly a month since Hannibal and Abigail were discharged from the hospital, and Will hadn’t seen much of either of them. He didn’t have trouble being patient, though. Hannibal had to take care of the appointments he’d missed while indisposed, as well as get Abigail settled into his home, as though she hadn’t already been living there for some time. There was also the matter of fixing his destroyed kitchen, something Hannibal obviously took as a priority.

Hannibal’s first act once things had calmed down, was to throw a dinner party, because of course it was. Will was stuck with gathering a few last minute things Hannibal wanted for the meal, mostly items to go in the centerpiece, but there were a couple ingredients thrown in as well.

Hmm. He couldn’t quite read the last item on the list. Typing it would have been a better idea. If he called Hannibal and asked him to repeat it he’d never hear the end of it.

“Will?”

He looked up from his untidy scrawl, briefly surprised to see Alana Bloom and Margot Verger strolling towards him. The former was the one who’d spoken, and he lifted a hand in greeting, wondering what they were doing together. “Ladies. Out shopping?”

“For Hannibal’s dinner party,” Margot said, tone just a touch dry. “Alana tells me he’d find it rude if we came empty handed.”

“What a coincidence, Hannibal’s the reason I’m out here too.” He lifted the list, light exasperation leaking through his words.

Alana eyed the piece of paper, tilting her head. “I was wondering what brought you to a market so far from home. Are you helping him cook?”

Will shrugged. “Not really ‘helping’, more like taking orders.”

Margot’s lips twitched.

“I didn’t know you were coming today, Margot.” Will couldn’t imagine her wanting to. There was nothing like irritation in her face either, just the usual look of mild disinterest.

“How could I turn down an invitation to one of Dr. Lecter’s famous dinner parties?”

Will thought perhaps they would split ways, but the two woman and he walked together for a bit, exchanging idle chatter that served to ease the frustration from Hannibal’s infernal groceries. When Margot took a detour to visit an aisle that wasn’t on Will’s list (probably the only one), he stole a glance at Alana.

“How are you holding up?” He hadn’t seen her, since everything that happened. He knew she’d visited Hannibal and Abigail in the hospital, but they’d never crossed paths.

Alana turned to him, basket handles nestled casually in the crook of her elbow. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” was how she answered the question. She looked weary, but exhaustion had not overcome her. She was starting to learn how to shoulder her burden. This was one of the sacrifices that came with what Will chose. “Logically, I know I did what I had to, in the moment, but some part of me will always wonder if there was a different way.”

Alana Bloom was a kind, good woman, even sitting on her high horse, and she didn’t deserve to believe she’d killed Jack Crawford. Zeller and Price didn’t deserve to believe their boss had slowly lost his mind to the murderers he’d always been so intent on catching. Bella, slipping away more and more every day, certainly didn’t deserve to think her husband had mutilated a man in their own home.

Will knew this, was aware that morals and common decency said he’d made a terrible decision, the wrong decision. He also knew, with certainty, that if he’d continued on that path and put Hannibal in jail, or ended up dead, or even just seriously injured with Hannibal off somewhere, betrayed, hurting… he knew, he would not be as happy as he was now.

“It wasn’t your fault, Alana. Jack wasn’t going to stop, he would have killed Hannibal.”

Alana closed her eyes, for as long as it took for her to inhale. “I know.” When she opened her eyes again, the darkness in them was starting to recede. “Margot has become a part of my usual routine. She’s been more of a therapist to me than the other way around, I think.” She smiled, pretty, rueful.

“I’m glad.” Will didn’t know why he was surprised the two of them got along.

Alana’s gaze wandered down to the list in Will’s hand, and he held it up, assuming she wanted to see what was left to pick out.

“I’m surprised. I don’t think Hannibal ever once let me grocery shop for him. Not for a lack of offering.”

Will shrugged. “Probably just being a gentleman.”

“Hmm.” Alana’s smile turned playful. “Careful, Will. Hannibal might be conditioning you.”

“Huh? No. What?”

She laughed, and Margot returned with an almost pout, muttering about a lack of available flavors for something or another. Will had to talk himself out of asking Alana what she meant.


	11. Settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will practices Hannibal's particular brand of performance art, and receives a reminder of just what path he chose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are winding down folks! I'm thinking definitely 15 chapters.
> 
> A quiet moment, before shit hits the fan.

“You invited Margot?” Was the first thing Will said upon stepping into Hannibal’s home, watching the man’s eyebrows raise. 

“Indeed.” Hannibal accepted the bag when it was handed to him, checking the contents against the list he no doubt had memorized. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Did he have a problem, right. “Haven’t you done enough to her?” He asked warily as they moved further inside the house. Hannibal paused, looking up from the bag with a curious expression.

“I have no intentions to ‘do’ anything to Margot, save for offer her a magnificent meal and good company.” 

Will tried to be irritated at the arrogance, tried to listen for any deeper meaning underneath the words, but instead he just found himself smiling, at hearing Hannibal's voice in person again, rather than through the phone.

“You are fond of her, are you not?” Hannibal asked, serious intent lurking underneath the nonchalant words. Will was hesitant to answer as Hannibal led the way to the kitchen. Things didn't seem to go well, when Hannibal thought he was 'fond' of things.

"She's interesting," was the answer he settled for. 

Abigail was sitting at the counter on a pulled up stool, typing away on a slim laptop. She looked up, flashing Will a smile when they entered. "Hey, Will."

"This dinner is to give thanks for a continued peaceful life together, despite Jack Crawford's best efforts, and to show appreciation for the people in it." Hannibal tied an apron neat around his waist, and Will leaned against the counter, narrowing his eyes.

"That so? And Margot is on that list?"

"Do you think she shouldn't be?"

"I'm still debating whether or not I should call her and advise her to cancel."

Hannibal looked some odd mix of offended and amused, and Abigail snorted. "Afraid Hannibal will bite?" Her eyes were still on the screen, and Will blinked, bewildered. 

"Something like that."

"I do not appreciate being ganged up on," Hannibal said as he carefully laid out every item Will had brought back from the market, pursing his lips. The tone of his voice wasn't upset, though. Abigail really wasn't afraid of him, Will marveled. He wasn't sure that was a good thing. "And, I find Margot interesting as well. It's a shame she ended our therapy. I should like to keep myself involved in her social circle, if only to keep an eye on the evolution of her and Mason's relationship."

Translation: He wanted to be there to see the aftermath, if and when Margot killed her brother. 

"Alana's coming too, right?" Abigail asked, fingers finally ceasing from the way they flew across the keyboard. Her eyes lifted to Hannibal, then shifted to Will. "Do you plan on getting back together with her?"

Will frowned.

"If the opportunity arises." Hannibal ducked down briefly to retrieve a cutting board, and Will's frown deepened. "Maintaining a healthy relationship is important to achieve the illusion of normalcy that people hold so dear."

Abigail crossed her legs, the topmost ankle bobbing lightly. "You don't want Alana to get too invested though," she pointed out. "Wouldn't do to have her talking about marriage."

"That's true," Hannibal mused.

The teen sighed, resting one elbow on the counter. "There are other options, of course."

"As I said, if the opportunity arises."

"I can't help but feel like 'appearing normal' isn't quite worth the risk of whatever woman you're bringing home finding out about your extracurricular activities," Will  drawled. 

Abigail nodded. "True. But as I said, other options."

"Abigail, come help me chop the vegetables."

She slid from her seat, maneuvering around the counter. "You're so much faster."

"Practice makes perfect."

Will didn't quite feel like letting the conversation die, but figured the moment to say anything else on the matter had passed. He didn't feel like having to mediate the damage from Hannibal's various affairs, particularly because if something went wrong, whatever unlucky soul Hannibal had chosen would need to die. If all Hannibal wanted was a facade, better someone who already knew his dirty not so little secrets. Will folded his arms across his chest, staring off at nothing.

Two men dating might draw more attention than it deflected, but practically, it might be the best option. Hannibal kept up his appearance of a well rounded patron of the arts, and no one would consider Will a crazy dog man, holed up alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, if he were dating Hannibal Lecter.

Pretending to date, of course. Perhaps he'd run it by Hannibal. Later. For some reason he didn't think he wanted Abigail to be a part of that discussion.

"Will, did you bring back the receipt like I asked? I can reimburse you for the purchases now." Hannibal wiped his hands on his apron, and Will flinched a little, startled out of his thoughts.

"Oh, it's fine."

"Are you certain? I am aware the ingredients I requested are not your usual fare."

Will snorted. "Considering my 'usual fare' consists of the fish I catch and whatever vegetables I can get frozen, that's not saying much."

Hannibal straightened. "That will be changing, of course. Balanced meals are a necessity. We need you in top physical condition."

"Is that a not so subtle way of telling me I need to go on a diet?"

Abigail grinned. "He's had me on an exercise routine since my 'death'."

"And you have reaped the benefits," Hannibal said, daring her to challenge the words with a look. 

Abigail went back to chopping, stifling a laugh. Will found himself involuntarily relaxing into the easy banter, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Will, come make yourself useful."

 

They prepared dinner together, both Will and Abigail victim to Hannibal correcting either technique or actions multiple times. Will had to force back a shudder when the man insisted on showing him the correct way to dice an onion with one hand over his, standing what felt like entirely too close behind him. 

Will was once more amazed how Hannibal normally did the seemingly endless amount of tasks alone, and far more efficiently than him and Abigail combined, though she seemed to have a rhythm around the kitchen Will did not. He wondered how often they cooked together. 

When Abigail went to wash up and change, Hannibal began cleaning the counters. Will watched for lack of anything else to look at. "She's in a good mood," he noted, finding the smile had rarely left Abigail's face, unless she was in deep concentration.

Hannibal nodded his agreements. "She's excited. It is the first time we've had company other than the construction workers. I do believe she's getting bored of me."

Will chuckled. "I'd love to find the person who could find you boring, Hannibal."

The man tilted his head as he leaned across the counter, rag sweeping up lingering tidbits and liquids. Will deliberately turned his attention away from the stretch of Hannibal’s torso, surprisingly lean for a man his age. 

“Flatterer,” Hannibal said, and Will nearly jumped before realizing he was responding to what he’d said before, and not his idle thoughts. 

Will cleared his throat, glancing back towards where Abigail had disappeared off to. “Right uh, I wanted to run something by you.” 

“Run away.”

Will took a moment to be amused at the sound of that, before continuing. “You said you wanted to maintain an illusion of normalcy, but I’d rather spare any other poor women you might prey on the emotional manipulation.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised, and he paused in his cleaning, eyes catching Will’s face, who pushed onward.

“Why don’t we just tell people we’re in a relationship?” Will waited. The silence that followed was vast. It was as if Will just stepped off a cliff and into a bottomless pit where the only sound was his own heartbeat. Hannibal’s face was a brick wall- worse than brick, it was smooth plaster, not even grooves or cracks to attempt reading. Will ran the words back over in his head, and immediately understood where he’d gone wrong. He’d just asked Hannibal Lecter to be his fake boyfriend. In those words, the complete and utter impossibility of such a thing was all too clear. 

Will cleared his throat, harder this time, to fill the silence, stop the fall. Before he could frantically backtrack, however, Hannibal asked, “Tell?”, somehow delicate, polite, and Will stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well, yeah, because obviously, we’re not.”

Hannibal remained plaster. 

Quickly, Will began to reason. “You just want the illusion of normalcy, right? I don’t have to tell you the risks of letting someone get close like that.” And he couldn’t condone Hannibal just using people like that, but he left that unsaid, not wanting the man to sense the collar he was trying to tighten and begin backtracking.

Hannibal’s eyes dropped down to the counter again, continuing the wipe down as if he hadn’t just spent the last thirty seconds not blinking. Will felt the tightness in his chest loosen. “I’m not going to pretend to be in a relationship with you, Will.”

Will’s irritation was irrational. “But you’ll pretend to be in a relationship with Alana?”

Hannibal paused, staring at Will as if he were being terribly inconvenienced. “I was not in a pretend relationship with Alana, I was in a real relationship. She merely assumed my feelings were deeper than they were.”

Will didn’t see what the difference was, and frowned. Ludicrous as it sounded, it _was_ the far more practical option. 

Finally Hannibal straightened, taking his rag and folding it into a neat square, dropping it onto the counter. “I’m going to change as well. If you would set the table, please.” He strode past, soon out of sight, and Will resorted himself to grating his teeth and bearing it. Whatever woman Hannibal managed to fool into his bed would have to learn the hard lesson of ‘he’s just not that into you’ for herself.

 

At the dinner table sat Margot, Alana, Hannibal, Will, and Abigail. Hannibal was in his one of his plaid suits, paisley tie included, and Abigail looked like quite the young woman in her floral print dress. Between Margot and Alana’s usual smart looks, Will felt rather underdressed. His button up was ironed, and his hair tamed, so that would have to do.

“I would like to make a toast,” Hannibal said, raising his glass from his place at the head of the table. “To the relationships we’d hate to do without. May they continue to grow and flourish.” 

Everyone raised their glass. 

The food was spectacular, as always. Will found himself still a bit put off from the conversation earlier, but Hannibal had a pleasant smile on his face, entertaining his guests with grace and charm. As always.

“I understand you are Margot’s new psychiatrist,” Hannibal asked Alana, watching her with politely interested eyes. 

“You understand correctly,” she returned. “Although our sessions have been put on hold, as of late.” Alana took a small sip of her beer (she apparently had her own private reserve, which made Will wonder just how long Hannibal had been patiently wooing Alana), and then her eyes lifted, curious. “Why did you and Margot end your psychiatrist-patient relationship?”

Hannibal looked over to Margot, who’s lips quirked up. “I didn’t think Hannibal’s therapy was quite the right fit for me. More than happy to eat his food and get his wine recommendations, however.” She lifted her glass, tipping it teasingly towards the man, who gave her a good-natured smile. 

It was hard not to snort at that thought, ‘not the right fit’. Will shook his head, looking back down at his food. 

“Abigail, if you need a break from Hannibal’s psychoanalyzing, just call, okay?” Alana teased. “I’m always up for a girls day.”

“Count me in,” Margot added, and Abigail grinned, straightening in her seat.

“Oh thank goodness. I can’t even get him to go to the movies with me.”

“We have tickets to the theater next weekend,” Hannibal pointed out.

Abigail shook her head, started to gesture with her fork, then seemed to think better of it. “Not the same.”

“She is eighteen Hannibal,” Will mused. “Normal eighteen year old stuff is hardly too much to ask.”

“Margot and I will make sure Abigail’s pop culture needs don’t suffer while you’re busy making sure she’s cultured.”

Hannibal looked adorably ruffled, and even Will found it difficult not to quirk a smile at the act, forgetting why he’d been in a bad mood in the first place. 

 

Once everyone finished eating and the conversation came to it’s natural end, Hannibal waved away Alana’s offer to help with clean up. Abigail would be doing the dishes, some of that ‘normal eighteen year old stuff’, by Hannibal’s words. 

Will excused himself to the bathroom after he’d said his goodbye's to Alana and Margot, but realized when he closed the door behind him that it was more to prevent the two woman from seeing how long he stayed afterwards than because he actually needed to go.

An after dinner drink, or digestif, as Hannibal insisted on calling it, had sort of become customary, when they ate together. When Will returned, it was to Abigail flicking water at Hannibal’s face like he was a bad dog. 

“Rude,” he tutted, and Will barely stifled a laugh. Not well enough, though, for Hannibal turned, regarding him with blank eyes, the human mask he’d worn through their meal gone. “Will. Are you staying? Perhaps you could listen to Abigail play the harpsichord.”

Abigail had turned back to the sink, and Will saw her shoulders twitch briefly with a silent laugh. “Like he has a choice. He’s been making me practice for this for weeks,” she informed him, and Will turned amused eyes to Hannibal, who had disapproval stretched across his face. 

“Having guests makes you cheeky,” he chastised, not a denial.

Will walked closer, resting his elbows on the counter. “I’ll stay, he said, mostly to placate Hannibal.

“Excellent. Once the kitchen is clean, then.”

 

Hannibal’s harpsichord was pristine, the room it sat in equally so, beautiful marble floors and wallpaper that shouldn’t have gone together but somehow did, perfectly Hannibal. Abigail strode comfortably into the room, and Hannibal gestured towards a plush couch, where Will and he sat. The sheet music Abigail needed was apparently already resting on the stand, and Will wondered what Hannibal's aim was for planning this.

Probably wanted to show off what an amazing teacher he was.

“Whenever you’re ready, Abigail,” Hannibal said, crossing his legs and settling his hands into his lap. 

Abigail gave a nod, and began to play without further ado. She’d been right- she wasn’t very good. Will held back a wince at a very obviously wrong note, the song slow in places it probably should have been fast and fast in places it really needed to be slow. 

Will found his eyes wandering to Hannibal, and saw something almost like pride on his face, lips curled up in a barely there smile. 

Abigail finished with unnecessary flourish and a quick correction of a note gone sharp, and then turned towards them and grinned, a tad sheepish. She received a standing ovation.

 

Not long afterwards Abigail wandered off to either get ready for bed, or, more likely, play around on her laptop, and Hannibal and Will had their digestif. 

It was cozy, in the way that spending an evening with others rarely was for Will. He slumped into his chair and Hannibal stood by the unlit fireplace, attention focused on the logs.

“You still owe me a fishing trip,” Will mused, eyes wandering over Hannibal’s shoulders, down his back. 

“Indeed I do.” He took two paces towards the window, and Will’s eyes fell lower, wondering why Hannibal hadn’t removed his jacket yet, and why they were so long. “I believe Abigail would enjoy that as well.”

Will drank some more of his whisky. “I can’t believe you let me think you killed her.”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled, like he’d done something terribly charming.

“What would you have done?” Will wondered, “If I hadn’t redeemed myself? If I’d decided to side with Jack?”

Hannibal stood still for two heartbeats, and then he crossed the distance between he and Will, standing just in front of his chair. Will had to crane his head back to meet the other’s eyes, dark from the dim light in the room and the late hour. “Would you like me to lie?”

Will’s grip on his glass tightened. “No.”

Another heartbeat, then, “I can’t be sure. I was distraught, upon discovering Freddie Lounds still lived. No one has ever deceived me so thoroughly. I was as impressed as I was disappointed.” Hannibal inhaled. As Will felt his pulse increase, he knew with certainty Hannibal’s own was still steady. “I never praised you, for that. Well done. Your act was very convincing.” 

Hannibal paused, like he was waiting for Will to say something, but Will found he had no words.

“In my state of grief, I imagined many scenarios. I’ll tell you the most likely.” A breath. Hannibal brought his glass to his lips, inhaled, took a sip. “I would have killed her, and painted your face with her blood. Slit her throat, in the same place her father did. And she would walk into my arms to allow me to do so.”

Will was trembling. Hannibal was watching him, but Will’s eyes were unseeing, mind unable to do anything but imagine what that would have been like, watching Abigail die a second time. 

“I wanted to punish you, for soiling all my grand visions of the future.” Hannibal’s gaze burned, and finally Will snapped back to the present, exhaling hard. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

What was there to say, but “Me, too.” Hannibal did not make any apologies, or phrase his would have dones in a way that made Will seem like the guilty party, but Will was certain if the scenario Hannibal spoke of happened, he would blame himself for Abigail’s death. 

He was also certain he would have forgiven Hannibal, again, and always. Hannibal was magnetic, and his atmosphere destroyed all but a select few who got too close. Will had made it through, and he was proud of that, intoxicated by it. Even still, though it would have been easier, he did not see Hannibal through rose-tinted lenses.

Hannibal was a monster, and a man. Will couldn’t, didn’t want to let go of either part of him. He wanted to take the leash firmly by the hand and slip the monster inside a cage, only let it out when the other monsters started crowding around. If he found he couldn’t tame the beast after all, found him impossible to leash, he wondered what would happen. If he would be caged, instead.

“I know you like your whiskey,” Hannibal said, leaning closer, “but I do believe you would enjoy this.”

Will reached up and took the wine glass from Hannibal’s proffered hand.


	12. Sowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail is invited to Mason's for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, this chapter didn't quite turn out how I wanted it to but... hopefully you'll all still enjoy it!

"What time are we going to Will's?" Abigail idly swung her feet from her place on the counter, watching as Hannibal tasted something he had boiling away in a pot on the stove. 

"We will leave at nine-thirty, sharp."

"I won't be late," she assured, inhaling the pleasant aroma that wafted from the steam. "Isn't the whole picnic thing a little clichéd?"

"There is a reason certain things have become cliché." He paused, eying her. "I'm sure Will will appreciate it. It's almost certain he spends his fishing days doing nothing but staring out at the river, not eating until he goes home and cooks whatever he caught."

"Sure you just don't want a quick excuse to get him out of the water?"

"Weren't you going for a walk?"

Abigail grinned, hopping down and straightening her shirt. "He'll come around," she assured the man, resting a hand briefly on his arm. The touch made her feel powerful, like she could somehow siphon Hannibal's strength via osmosis. Hannibal was very tactile with her, a hand on her face, on her wrists to fix her technique when playing the harpsichord, on her back to guide her somewhere. When she'd first woken in the hospital after her father slit her throat, Hannibal had been holding her hand.

It was only recently she'd started to touch him back. She knew it pleased him, showed a certain level of familiarity that she suspected he craved. Hannibal only touched people who interested him, regardless of whether his interest lay in their death or their life. She found Hannibal interesting, too, and felt gratified by the little things he allowed, even so simple as a hand on his arm.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," was Hannibal's faux absentminded response. A little smirk curled her lips, and she shook her head at the two giant dorks that were Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, then laughed at the thought of what Hannibal's face might do if she called him a dork. 

"I'll be back soon." With that promise, Abigail grabbed her purse and slid it up her shoulder, other hand tugging at the hair tie that held back her hair. She wasn't ashamed of her scars, not anymore, but someone was bound to remember a young girl with only one ear. She preferred anonymity when possible. 

After a quick glance outside to make sure no reporters were lurking about- that had died down, but she was still waiting for Freddie Lounds to make another attempt at getting an interview- she started down the street, hands in her pockets.

It was eight now, which gave her plenty of time for a leisurely stroll. After being cooped up in Hannibal's house so long, she loved being able to get out and stretch her legs in broad  daylight, not having to fear anyone finding her. When she'd still been 'dead', he would occasionally take her to a lovely little house on the coast, where she could watch the ocean and breathe in the sea air. She liked that house. She hoped they went back, soon. 

College would be a concern soon too. She was still debating about whether she wanted to take online courses, or if she was feeling up to risking going somewhere she'd be known and hounded. Hannibal had suggested going out of the country, but she wasn't quite sure, not comfortable enough in her French to consider France, but wanting somewhere more exotic than Canada or the UK. Not to mention she would miss out on her ‘extracurricular’ education.

Hannibal wanted a protégée. Someone to pass down his wealth of abilities and knowledge to. She could fill that role. She wanted to. And as long as she did, Hannibal would continue to find her interesting. She felt Hannibal genuinely cared for her, as much as he really could, but she knew what would happen the moment she was no longer useful. Maybe it should have made her fearful, but for now she just felt content. Almost proud. She'd passed every test Hannibal threw at her, and come out alive. Will had passed his, too. The two were probably related.

Abigail was a good way down the street before she noticed the car following her. She didn't think much of the vehicle at first, enjoying the rolling clouds and nearly warm air, but something wouldn't let her ignore it.   Without thinking, she reached into her purse, fingering the pepper spray sat inside. 

Everything after that happened very fast.

She was grabbed from behind, and Abigail rammed her head back, catching her assailant in the nose, and then stomped on his foot, managing to break free of the hold. She yanked the pepper spray free of her bag, but someone else snatched her wrist up before her finger even settled over the button, the bottle falling helplessly to the ground.

A sharp blow to her stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs, another to her head, and everything went black.

 

When she woke, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Abigail blinked hard, grimacing, giving her head a little shake. Once her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was a small, grotesque man in a wheelchair, face maimed beyond recognition, lacking even nose or lips to make him appear human. He looked like a monster, and Abigail had a feeling it was a better reflection of what was inside of him than whatever his old face had looked like. She was in a barn, dimly lit despite the bright lamps angled in various places around the room. Hay was strewn across the ground.

"You must be Mason Verger," she said, voice coming out just a bit dazed. She swallowed, taking stock of the fact that she was naked, skin crawling from the chilled air. There were others standing around, men, but she ignored them, knowing their lecherous eyes would only make her more uncomfortable. The surreal feeling of floating she'd experienced upon waking was discovered to be not surreal at all- coarse ropes wrapped around her wrists and ankles supported most of her weight. Her muscles ached. She couldn't feel her hands. "Hannibal was right, you're really ugly.”

"The fear will set in once the disorientation fades," Mason said after a shocked silence rippled across the group of men. No, pigs. That word was a better fit. Mason's voice was rough and scraped Abigail's ear canals dry, sending a chill down her spine.

She was afraid. Just not of Mason Verger.

"I don't know what else Hannibal could possibly do to you, but I look forward to seeing him get creative." Hide the pain. Hide the fear. She could hear Hannibal in her ear, 'rude,' but this man didn't deserve her courtesy.

"I see Lecter failed to teach you manners," Mason growled, and one of his lackeys stepped forward and hit his gun against the side of her hip hard enough to make her teeth sing. 

Abigail sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering briefly close. "And you," she said after a moment, forcing herself to look at the men with guns that surrounded her. There were three. As expected, their eyes were nowhere near her face. "You have no idea what Hannibal is going to do to you. I almost feel bad."

"You should feel bad for yourself, girly," one of the men growled. 

Mason cleared his throat. "Abigail, is it? Nothing personal, but I thought the good doctor deserved a little taste of what's to come." A snort of amusement left him, and he wheeled the chair around, until he was just out of Abigail's line of sight. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward, struggling to get past the pain that sent tingles up and down her arms. "After I feed you to him, piece by piece I'll take his face, in return for the one he took from me."

Abigail laughed. "You think feeding me to him is a punishment? He'd clean his plate and ask for more." The way Mason paused let her know that he hadn't considered that, and a smirk lingered on her lips, even as her breathing grew heavier. "You won't get the chance, though. Hannibal doesn't like other people messing with his things."

"You seem to hold him in high regard."

"Between the two of you, I prefer his method of slaughtering pigs."

The men weren't staring at her body, anymore. Abigail focused on the discomfort she could feel leaking from them, splashed all over their faces. It was almost enough to block out the pain completely. It was getting easier to push down her fear. 

Mason made an odd noise, and then she heard the mechanical whir of his chair. "Andrea, Cordell, hurry up and get it done.”

Mason and several of his goons left her sight, and eventually she couldn't hear them in the barn at all. 

She heard someone, maybe Andrea, walking closer, and then she could smell him. Abigail didn't flinch when she felt a finger trail over her side. "Let's make sure those restraints are nice and tight." His breath reeked of tobacco. True to his word he tugged at the ropes on her wrists, and she grit her teeth, eying him in her peripheral vision.

Cordell moved behind Abigail, and she heard something like shifting metal. "Mason would've preferred to brand your face," he mused, and Abigail's pulse fluttered as she realized what exactly was about to happen. "He fought bravely and with his own funds against the Humane Slaughter Act, and managed to keep face-branding legal."

"Why doesn't he?" She asked, defiant, tensing as she felt a faint heat approaching.

"It's very important to Mason that you have the pig's experience." 

Abigail took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. It was hard to concentrate, with her pulse rising as it was, but she took another breath, and calmly sought the doors to her memory palace. 

When Hannibal first started teaching her the meditation practice she hadn't much cared for it, not liking the stillness, not having enough safe places in her mind to go, when she was forced to reflect for so long. Hannibal taught her how to make a safe place. 

The door's opened upon the foyer to Hannibal Lecter's home, pristine, colors brighter than they were in reality. She toed off her shoes at the door, closed and locked it behind her. 

Hannibal was in the kitchen, waiting. "Brave girl," he praised, and she gave him a weak smile. He crossed the distance between them in two steps and rested a hand on her shoulder, comforting, familiar. "It will be over, soon."

Abigail opened her eyes. The pain stung and clawed at her back, but the worst was over. Just one more scar to add to her ever increasing assortment. 

"Freak," Andrea muttered, sidling close again. Too close. "What's it gotta take to make you scream?" He flicked her nipple, hard, and her face twitched in equal parts pain and irritation. When he turned his head, she moved hers to the side and sunk her teeth into his skin. 

A cry of pain and frustration was ripped from Andrea's odorous lips. Abigail felt her mouth curl in gruesome satisfaction at the flesh that hung from his now mutilated ear. She spat out the skin between her teeth. Blood dripped from her mouth, down her chin, and when Andrea stumbled back she dragged her tongue across her lips in one long swipe.

"Cannibal bitch," he roared. She braced herself as his fist reeled back. 

The sound of a gun ripping through the space made him pause, and then another shot fired, one, two more, and Andrea went down. Abigail could barely see the door from her position, and she tensed in anticipation, swallowing hard. 

Cordell must have been shot too, because she could hear not a sound from behind her.

Sandy brown curls slid into view. "Margot?" She realized, and the Verger sister came at her with trembling fingers, attempting to untie her before giving up and finding a knife on one of the two dead bodies that surrounded them, and cutting her down instead. 

Abigail stumbled, and Margot caught her, barely. The look of equal parts horror and determination on Margot's face was startling, so different from when she'd last seen her. Her eyes flicked over Abigail's body as she ascertained the damage.

"They branded me," Abigail said, since she wasn't sure how much the woman had seen.

"Oh god. Oh god, Abigail, I'm so sorry. I didn't think... I should have known." 

Abigail shook her head. It was difficult to stand, between the pain in her arms and legs. Her back didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. Margot slid off her trench coat and Abigail accepted it gratefully, giving the older woman a smile as she helped her into it. "Thank you."

"We have to get you out of here." Margot wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and started walking too fast. Her heels glided across the ground faster than Abigail's feet wanted to walk, and she found herself being nearly carried by the petit woman, amazed at her strength. 

The Verger compound was vast. Abigail was lost long before they reached anywhere that even remotely looked like an exit. Tall buildings rose up and moved out of sight just as fast. Her head ached, and all the movement was making her dizzy. She wondered how long she'd been out for. Outside, moving between buildings, dark shadows splayed across the ground from the setting sun. They must have kept her asleep, medicated. That would explain the dizziness, the heavy feeling in her limbs. 

Margot was muttering under her breath, impossible to hear but impossible to ignore, so Abigail merely tried to focus on continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

"There!" A voice behind them said, and Margot cursed, sharp under her breath. She jerked around, and Abigail stumbled to her knees without the support. 

Margot aimed her gun, but the men were upon her before she could fire. She went limp in the arms of a burly, dark-skinned man when he took hold of her, and Abigail debated her chances of reaching the gun before the other one of Mason's thugs could. There were only two, but Abigail knew she and Margot didn't stand a chance without a weapon.

"Where do you think you're going, Ms. Verger?" 

"Can't you tell Mason to leave Abigail alone?” Margot begged, voice strained, despite the way she tried to make it come out strong. “She's just a child. He doesn't need her to kill Hannibal."

So she knew, then. Abigail considered being angry over what felt like betrayal, but with a man like Mason for a brother, she doubted Margot had much choice in anything that went on. And to be fair, Hannibal probably did deserve to die. 

Margot pushed herself free of the man's grip, but there was no real bite in it. She looked resigned. Her eyes were on the ground, but Abigail's were raised, and so she saw the exact moment Hannibal Lecter stepped behind Mason's thug and snapped his neck. 

The other man didn't fair much better, he got a shot off, but must have missed, because he was on the ground not a second later. Hannibal’s movements were nearly feral in the fading light of day, blood spattered across his face, across his clothes, making him look like a beast. Abigail doubted any of the blood was his own, and the sight made her lips curl.  

Margot, to her credit, took this in stride, nothing more than a light widening of her eyes betraying the surprise. 

"Hannibal," Abigail breathed, relief making her feel boneless. She struggled to her feet, staggering, and landed firmly in Hannibal's arms as he stepped closer. His gentle warmth was deceptive, hands that had just taken two lives carding through her hair and resting firmly over her side.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. The soothing calm of his voice was a safe ocean Abigail had no problem falling into, a sigh leaving her mouth as she shook her head. 

"You were right on time."

"I have something for you." Hannibal shifted back, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. A slender object was wrapped inside. It took several seconds of staring before Abigail recognized it as a pinky. Her pinky. She looked down at her hands, startled to find the one that should have been on her right hand simply gone. "I couldn't have you go without your pretty fingers."

Abigail laughed.

Margot stared between them. Her hands trembled, fingers clenching and unclenching into fists at her sides. In comparison to Hannibal, who was a mighty predator, Margot was certainly prey. She looked meek as a rabbit, eyes twitching every which way. 

"Thank you for coming Margot. I was beginning to think you'd taken the chocolate after all."

Margot swallowed, large eyes fixing on Hannibal, body leaning towards him. "Mason promised to give something back to me. Something he stole." She took a breath, pressing her hands against her stomach. "There was a surrogate all along."

Hannibal tilted his head. Abigail leaned heavily on him, and found he supported her weight easily. 

"It's a Verger baby. My baby."

"You think Mason will just give you what he promised?" 

"It's here," Margot insisted, "On the farm."

"I can imagine lots of ways to be a Verger baby that are unpleasant. I'm sure your brother can, too."

In the orange light of the setting sun, Margot's eyes brimmed with tears. She didn't wipe them.

"Mason will deny you. He will always deny you. You know you'll have to kill him."

"Are you saying you'd do it for me?"

"I wouldn't mind offering assistance, but it would actually be more therapeutic for you to kill him yourself, Margot. You'll remember I recommended that in session."

"Wait until I can get away with it, you said."

"That remains my advice. Now if you'll excuse us, our ride is waiting."

Abigail sagged, and Hannibal shifted until he could lift her properly, one arm hooked under her knees, the other supporting her back. Abigail turned and buried her face in his sweater, inhaling deeply and forcing the smell of tobacco from her mind.


	13. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't started chapter 14 yet but hopefully I can get it up tomorrow. I'm debating on how I want it all to go down.
> 
> Also- I am not a doctor.

 

Will waited nervously in the driver's seat, hand loosely wrapped around his gun. It had already tasted blood tonight, between getting past the gate guards, freeing Hannibal from the pig Mason had employed to bind him, and again when one of Mason's men had noticed his car and come snooping. 

The waiting was killing him.

His pulse hadn’t dropped since the moment he’d received a call from Hannibal that was little more than a handful of unfamiliar voices and the grunts and impact noises of a fight. It hadn’t been too hard to work out everything else after that. Of course it was Mason fucking Verger. He despised the man more than he could ever despise Hannibal, no matter how many people he'd killed.

Staring out at the farm, Will immediately noticed the shadow that drew near, slow in it's approach. Will tensed, but one figure soon revealed itself to be two, and he quickly jumped from the car, opening the backseat so Hannibal could set Abigail inside. 

"Will," Abigail greeted, something like wonder in her voice. He looked her over, pausing when he realized she was naked under the trench coat loosely wrapped around her body. 

"What did they do to you?"

"We'll have time to discuss that on the way home. Abigail, lay on your stomach. Good, we should give that room to breathe."

Will frowned, wanting to know, but aware that Hannibal was right. If he thought she would last the drive home, all Will could do was drive. Will moved back to the driver's seat, and waited for Hannibal to slide inside the car as well before pushing down on the gas. Behind him, Abigail let out a pained whimper, and Will's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Did you kill him?"

Hannibal looked perfectly composed, fiddling with the car's air conditioning settings. "I'm hoping Margot will find the strength to kill Mason herself. I might have, had our paths crossed, but I was more concerned with getting Abigail to safety. She needs surgery."

Will's head snapped back, before he forced himself to look at the road again. "What did they do?"

"Nothing that will kill her. Her finger should be reattached as soon as possible, however."

Severed finger. Will swallowed back bile, shaking his head. “That son of a bitch."

"Yes, he is trying my patience. I don’t think he learned his lesson at all. ”

"He branded me," Abigail said, in a voice that was surprisingly controlled. "Like one of his pigs. I think he planned on doing the same to you." She was talking to Hannibal, who nodded. "After he fed you to me, piece by piece."

Will felt his hatred for Mason burn brighter, considering, for one brief moment, turning around just to put a bullet in the bastard’s head. The only thing stopping him was the calm Hannibal exuded. His breathing was steady, even, legs casually crossed. This reminded Will that Abigail was safe, they were both safe, they would go back to Hannibal's house, who would take care of everything.

"I told him you'd clean your plate and ask for more.” Abigail laughed. 

When Will looked over to Hannibal, he could read pride as he turned his head to look at Abigail.

"Brave girl," he praised, and Will let himself smile. 

 

Will was exhausted by the time they arrived in Baltimore. The sun had set long ago, and his back ached from sitting still for so long. Abigail was asleep, and Hannibal was expressionless, but alert. He was the first one out of the car once Will parked. 

Under the cover of darkness, Hannibal carefully pulled Abigail from the backseat, and took her inside. Will followed without a word. Hannibal led him to the basement door and Will opened it, watching the man carefully carry their sleeping charge down the stairs.

He laid Abigail out on a pristine table, an operating table, and Will watched him apply a local anesthetic, staring hard at the bloody stump where her pinky used to be. 

On auto-pilot Will handed Hannibal every tool he asked for to carefully reattach Abigail's finger. Hannibal’s hands were steady as he trimmed the bone end, drilling small holes to place the pins. He used a microscope to reattach nerves, stitches so small, and Will’s exhaustion was substituted for awe at the speed and skill of Hannibal’s work. Abigail woke in a daze, but if she was fully aware of what was happening she gave no indication, keeping her eyes closed, not a sound leaving her mouth.

When it was finished, Hannibal wrapped her hand in so many bandages it almost seemed overkill, and Will helped him take Abigail upstairs. They laid her on her bed, on her stomach. Hannibal applied some sort of special cream to the Verger brand on her back, the sight of the raised, ruined flesh making Will’s stomach curl.

“Mason Verger is a pig,” he muttered. Will continued to follow Hannibal to his bathroom without really thinking, exhausted but aware that if he tried to lay down sleep wouldn’t come. He shucked the coat he still hadn’t removed and folded it across his arm as he passed through the door. The light clicked on when Will’s feet hit the tile. 

Hannibal moved over to the sink, and Will watched him with a light frown, barely aware that either of them had not spoken a single word since they’d reached the house. 

Hannibal was taking out the first aid kit again. Something about Hannibal’s red sweater caught Will’s eye as he wondered over this- the fabric looked nearly _too_ red. Damp red. “Are you bleeding?”

“I was shot.”

Will stared at Hannibal, unable to say anything for the brief moment that it took Hannibal to take off the bloodied sweater, then the undershirt, barely a wince betraying the pain he must be feeling. “You- Hannibal, you’ve just been sitting there bleeding this whole time?” 

“I wanted to ensure Abigail’s finger was reattached quickly, so she would regain as much function as possible. She’s never going to be a concert pianist, but that’s hardly news.” Hannibal’s lips quirked up. Will stared a moment longer, taking in the impossible person who stood before him, casually folding his shirts and tsking at the blood stains. 

Will was forced to chuckle, tension leaving his shoulders with a sigh. He laid his jacket down and walked closer, staring at the ugly red line on Hannibal’s side. “Is it bad?” He muttered the question, the atmosphere seeming to call for quiet.

“No, just a graze.”

Hannibal wet a rag, and Will took another step, crowding him against the sink. “May I?” He didn’t know why he asked. Perhaps to return an old kindness. Hannibal’s eyes were on him, Will could feel them, but he kept his own trained on the man’s wound.

“You may.”

Will took the rag from Hannibal’s hand, and was embarrassed when the brush of their fingers made him flinch. In an instant he was aware of how close they stood, of what he was doing, and to who. He wrung out the cloth, carefully pressing it against torn, broken skin, feeling the need to be gentle, despite how indestructible Hannibal always seemed to be. No matter how light his touch, Will felt it was too rough, not careful enough. 

Will held his breath, swallowing hard. Without thinking he rested a hand on Hannibal’s back to steady himself. The muscles jumped under his palm. Warm, soft skin, so often hidden underneath all those layers, skin Hannibal let only a select few see, and feel. “Do you think Abigail will be all right?” Will asked, because he could feel the distraction simmering so tantalizingly close, and he needed to settle his thoughts on anything but Hannibal Lecter.

“I believe Abigail will emerge from her chrysalis even stronger than she was before.”

Will looked up. “Cut free one arm, give me the knife, you said. Ready the car. I’ll take care of the rest.” Will’s fingers curled, pressing against the flesh underneath them. “I wasn’t sure I really believed you could do it.”

Hannibal’s eyes glinted faintly in the bathroom light. Will wondered if Hannibal was aware how drastically they could change from one moment to the other. If Hannibal even realized that he dropped his mask around him, if he was aware of just how much he showed.

“Yet, you trusted me to save Abigail.”

“I did.” His voice was barely a whisper, and Will wet his lips, digging his fingers harder into Hannibal’s back before realizing what he was doing and letting his hand drop away. “I do. I- god.” Will forced himself to turn his head, overwhelmed by the influx of emotion. He wanted to say he didn’t know whether what he felt was from him, or from Hannibal, but it was too familiar for him to pretend. “God.”

Perhaps it was time to admit to himself he had fallen for a monster.

Will felt frozen, a strange tingling just behind his eyes. Tears maybe, but he didn’t know why he’d cry. Will watched Hannibal’s mouth, his nose, the sharp curve of his cheek, and caught every twitch as the man smiled. He felt dizzy.

“Will?” Hannibal rested a hand on his arm, to steady him, and Will became aware that he was swaying, faintly. 

It was overwhelming, his want for this man. This beast. He hadn’t wanted to see it, so he made excuses, but how else could he explain this desire to draw Hannibal Lecter into his arms? To praise him for his skill, his brilliance? To lick the smile off his face? Not adrenaline, no pent up desires, no moment to be caught up in, or a thousand other things he told himself to deny the hard fact that he could look at the Chesapeake Ripper and _feel_ in a way no one should.

Will ran a hand through his hair, then over his face. When he looked up at Hannibal, the man looked terribly pleased with himself. 

“I do believe you’ve just had an epiphany.”

Will wasn’t sure that his strangled breaths and trembling limbs really made up ‘epiphany’, but the word fit. “How can you tell?”

“Your face. Your scent.” 

Hannibal must have dog in his bloodline, somewhere, Will was sure of it. “You can’t smell an epiphany Hannibal,” he said just to be argumentative. 

The ‘Can’t I?’ was clear in Hannibal’s raised eyebrow, and Will snorted, then let out a soft chuckle. The fondness in Hannibal’s hooded eyes was too much to bear. 

He wanted. God, he wanted. Hannibal had cracked open his skull and released all the dark things that lurked there, had filled it with some of his own, and Will still wanted. 

In the next moment he stepped, stumbled really, further into Hannibal’s personal space, hands clawing at the flesh bared. Skin beneath every inch of his fingers, he clumsily connected their mouths, his lip catching on sharp teeth. The faintly wet sound of the rag hitting the ground drifted up to his ears. Copper bloomed between them, flavoring the kiss and making Will tremble down to his knees. His tongue appealed to that clever mouth, and when it was accepted, he moaned, heat plummeting down his stomach. He could feel his cock stiffening in his jeans, and one of his hands dropped to the counter, needing the extra support.

Hannibal welcomed him into his mouth like a gracious host, tongue painting his with tantalizing caresses, slow enough to send tingles down each bone in his toes, making them curl. He pulled back to breathe, panting, and powerful fingers crawled into his curls and yanked.

Will yelped, the light pain catching him off guard, blinking rapidly as he found himself staring at the ceiling. He tried to free his head from the grip, but Hannibal held firm, keeping his neck paralyzed. Will swallowed, wetting his lips, thighs tensing as his cock filled out a little more. “Hannibal,” he managed, but cut himself off when he barely recognized the sound of his voice, ragged, needy.

“Will.” Hannibal paused, and Will recognized he being given a second to compose himself. Will tried, closing his eyes, taking deep breath in, but he could still feel the heat radiating from the half naked body in front of his, close but not enough to touch. 

He’d just attacked Hannibal Lecter. That thought was enough to make Will still, make his throat work convulsively, wondering what Hannibal was going to do. What he was doing. If he’d allow it.

Blessed friction against the front of his pants, what could only be Hannibal’s palm, and Will cursed, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips bucked forward. Arousal, thick and sweet replaced blood in his veins. Will rocked forward, trying to get more of that touch, but it was gone as suddenly as it came. “Fuck,” he breathed, head jerking reflexively, making him wince as the strong hold tugged locks of his hair. “Fuck.”

“Will,” Hannibal said again, and Will’s legs trembled. “I think, since you made me wait so very long, that you could at least do me the courtesy of asking properly.”

“What? Ask you?” 

“For what you want.”

Hannibal released him, and Will gasped, head drooping forwards. The look in Hannibal’s eyes was pure electricity, and it sent shocks of sensation to every inch of his body, shaking him up to his teeth. His length twitched, and he longed to close the distance between them, the only thing stopping him the knowledge that Hannibal had asked something of him. 

“I want.” Will’s eyes searched Hannibal’s face, studying the way he took careful, even breaths through his nose, the stretch of his shoulders. 

“What do you want, Will?”

What did he want. The obvious answer was immediate, but there was something in Hannibal’s face that made him take a breath, made him consider.  “I want. I want to reschedule our fishing trip, with Abigail.”

Hannibal tilted his head, just so, one of his invisible smiles painting his lips. “I should hope so. I had made a picnic for us all to enjoy. I imagine the food has gone bad, by now.” 

Will’s lips twitched faintly, helplessly, at the image of Hannibal puttering around the kitchen that morning, packing glorified Tupperware into an honest to god wicker basket, complete with a red checkered blanket. “Of course you did,” he said, breathing deeply. 

“Is there something else you want?”

A nod, and he wet his lips, managing a smile, despite the rapid beat his heart was pounding. “Maybe, er, dinner?”

Hannibal regarded him, blinking slow. “You want me to make you dinner?”

“Yes. No,” Will corrected, “I want to… I want you to take me hunting. You took Abigail, didn’t you? Only fair I get a turn.” 

Hannibal’s lids raised from their usual sleepy look, eyes narrowing, just a twitch, before he spoke. “Oh, Will.” There was reverence in that tone. Will leaned forward unconsciously, drawn by the genuine smile that curled Hannibal’s lips.

In that moment Will wasn’t thinking about whether or not he’d be able to manipulate Hannibal into choosing someone that fit a certain criteria, or whether he cared because he knew right from wrong, or because he knew he was supposed to care. 

There was just Hannibal, and promises of blood and meat and bone.

“One more thing,” Will breathed, pressing his hand against the counter again, gripping it tightly. He watched Hannibal’s pupils dilate, the curve of his jaw when he lifted his head, bidding him to continue. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Hannibal blinked slow, making Will wait, and his fingers curled against the marble of Hannibal’s bathroom counter, the cold surface helping to keep him centered. After a long pause, Hannibal’s lips parted, and Will felt the muscles in his legs tense. “Ask me nicely.”

Asshole. Will’s lips quirked up, and he raised his eyebrows imploringly, setting both hands near the sink to trap Hannibal there in a cage of arms, body warming at the increased proximity. “May I kiss you, Hannibal?” Then, after a moment, “Please?”

Hannibal looked insufferably smug. “You may.”

Will wasted no time, shuddering as he reached out, pulling Hannibal towards him. A wave of satisfaction hit him when Hannibal reached back, their lips meeting in a crash of passion that was still a bit too rough, but altogether perfect. 

Hannibal wasn't a good kisser, Will decided. There was too much teeth, nipping at his lips, his tongue, the corner of his mouth, anywhere they could reach. Each drag of fang against him drew gasps, heat curling tighter and brighter, until he was parting his lips pliantly against Hannibal's carefully enacted assault, panting as their tongues tangled. Will decided he didn't care about Hannibal's kissing prowess. 

Will dug his fingers into Hannibal's back just because he could, hands roaming over skin, pressing close. He wished his own shirt was off, or parted at least, to feel, but he didn't think he had the patience nor dexterity at the moment. 

One of Hannibal's hands slid back into his hair, and Will groaned without a thought, willingly baring his neck when those strong fingers gave a light tug.

Hannibal's mouth against his throat felt like dripping candle wax, intense heat, the brief moment where it felt like the burn might be too much, before it passed and moved on. Will wrapped his arms around him and squeezed, breathing hard, hips twitching forward. Hannibal’s free hand gripped his hip, thumb rubbing against his stomach, sliding lower, down the line where legs connected. A burst of heat made Will weak with anticipation, wanting, an encouraging noise slipping out of his lips.

Then it stopped.

Will gasped when Hannibal pulled away, cock already mourning the loss. Hannibal looked fairly composed, but his breathing was heavier than it's usual even pace. Will was sure if he'd been wearing a suit jacket he would have straightened it. As it was, he merely ran a hand through his hair, carefully rearranging the strands.

"My apologies, I might have gotten a bit carried away."

Will swallowed. hands still hooked against Hannibal's sides. "It's fine," he said, then with a breathless laugh, "More than fine."

"You only asked for a kiss.”

“Hannibal,” Will did not whine, and received another gentle press of their lips for his efforts. Then Hannibal slipped out of his arms, taking his bloodied clothes in hand. Will’s eyes slipped down the expanse of his back, inhaling slow when he let his eyes settle on his ass. Startled at himself, Will looked away, trying to subtly adjust his pants. 

“I hope it’s not rude of me to assume you’re staying the night?”

“What? Uh- no, I… I mean I was, am, pretty exhausted from the drive.”

“The room you usually stay in has fresh sheets. We should get some sleep for the night.”

“Right. Okay. Yeah, that’s. We should.” He bit his tongue to prevent complaining or asking for more. They were adults, he was an adult, he could exercise self restraint. Hannibal had been tied up and tortured all day, then performed a delicate surgery while sitting there with a bullet wound in his side. He needed to rest. Even if it seemed hard to believe at times, Hannibal was only human. 

And Will was tired. Or at least, he could be again, he thought, after he’d calmed down.

They said their goodnights, Will unable to help staying just a bit longer when he noticed Hannibal pulling out his toothbrush. He watched the man brush his teeth until their eyes caught in the mirror, and he ducked out, embarrassed. 

Will walked to the guest room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Once he was down to just his underwear he went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush Hannibal always left out for him, and washed his face. After a moment’s consideration he decided to shower.

When he stepped into the warm stream Will tried to ignore his erection, still persistently curving towards his stomach. He tried to pretend this wasn’t the reason he’d gotten into the shower in the first place, tried to pretend, as he carefully washed the day’s stress away, that he wasn’t desperate for relief. He hadn’t touched himself lately, fear that his mind would once more twist his fantasies towards Hannibal, but that hardly mattered anymore. 

Will dropped the rag, taking himself in hand and shuddering as he stroked himself in one, slow motion, root to tip.

“ _Ask me nicely_ ,” Hannibal’s voice said in his head, and he stifled his groan. Will’s hand glided in a sure, even rhythm, his other arm supporting him against the wall as his legs grew a bit shaky. It had to be quick, quiet. There was no way Hannibal could, but Will felt the man would take one look at him in the morning and know what he'd done. 

_“You truly have no self-restraint, do you Will, touching yourself so wantonly in my shower, using my soap, picturing my hand. Quite selfish of you.”_

Will panted, working his palm over the head, then gliding his fingers back down, hips rocking into his fist, tight as he could bear. Imagining Hannibal’s voice made lust swirl down into his knees, cock aching, toes curling against the shower floor, teeth biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. His imagination was all too vivid, and it was too easy to imagine his fist as Hannibal’s, to imagine the man pressed up behind him, chin resting familiarly on his shoulder.

To imagine him reaching down to fondle his sack, too slow, always too slow, making him crave more, more, “More, fuck, Hannibal-”

Will came with a gasp, choking back his groan. His pulsed and spilled over his hand, quick, desperate strokes milking every last drop he had to give. 

As his breathing evened out he rested against the shower wall, eyes fluttering shut. His mind wandered back to the kiss. Did this mean they were in a relationship? Hannibal had refused his offer, before. 

_“I think, since you made me wait so very long, that you could at least do me the courtesy of asking properly.”_

They’d just have to talk about it later. Will finished his shower quickly, startled to find a pair of sleep pants waiting for him, neatly folded on the bed. Embarrassment flooded him, wondering when Hannibal had come in, if he’d heard. Fuck, he’d yelled the man’s name and hadn’t exactly been quiet. 

Hoping at least, that if he had been heard it wouldn’t be mentioned in the morning, Will pulled on the pants and slipped underneath the covers. Will fell asleep to images of Hannibal brushing his teeth behind his eyes.


	14. Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything works out well, and nobody is a good person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some parts of this chapter I really love, but mostly I am nooot a fan. It was really hard for me to get through, not sure why. I think I should get the last one up tomorrow, but we'll see. Thanks for everyone who's followed so far, and I hope you enjoy this at least a bit.

“I still think we need to do something about Mason.” Will squinted up at the sky as he set down the rods and his tackle box, muscles relaxing without the load. 

Hannibal didn’t seem concerned at all about the brother Verger’s retaliation, but then Hannibal was as arrogant as he was clever. He looked completely calm as he stepped up beside Will, carefully setting his own things down. 

“We won’t need to.” 

“Do you think Mason really had a surrogate?” Was Abigail’s question as she walked closer to the water, kneeling down and trying to spot fish by their shadows. 

Hannibal pulled a pristinely folded blanket out of the honest to god wicker basket he’d brought, laying it out on the vivid green grass, lightly damp with dew. “I do,” Hannibal said, “But I do not believe the baby will ever live to see Margot.” He cringed, just a little, when Winston poked his nose into the basket, mollifying the dog with a scratch behind his ears before commanding him to ‘shoo’. 

The rest of the pack ran freely around the the small clearing, weaving around trees, some lapping at the river water. Will turned his attention to them for a moment, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

Abigail joined Hannibal on the blanket. “What is with that guy,” she muttered, and Hannibal gave her an amused look. 

“Mason Verger is a sadist.”

“You’re a sadist,” she pointed out, and he wrinkled his nose.

“I would ask you not to compare us. Will? Come, sit down.”

Will did, smiling at the sight of Abigail pressing her face into Winston’s fur, saying something nonsensical and sputtering a laugh when the dog tried to lick her mouth. 

“Mason is a man of incredible resources,” he pointed out, not quite willing to drop the subject, even as Hannibal began unpacking the picnic feast he’d prepared. 

“He is also a man of incredible pride.” Hannibal handed him a small pack of disinfectant wipes, staring at him hard until Will opened them and wiped his hands. “Which has been wounded considerably. He won’t try anything until he has a chance to regroup and come up with a more ‘foolproof’ plan than that one.”

Will wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that, but the unspoken demand of ‘trust me’ was impossible to ignore, so he decided to table the issue for the time being, and indulge in Hannibal’s food. 

“Apricot-prosciutto focaccia, tomato-manchego tartlets, mozzarella, red pepper, and bacon skewers, along with a deviled egg potato salad, and your beverage of choice,” Hannibal announced. “Wine, or apple juice?”

“I’ll take the apple juice,” Will said, as Abigail insisted, “I’ll take the wine.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, and he set about serving. The dogs didn’t waste any time wandering closer at the smell of food, but one sharp command from Will’s tongue and they hesitantly padded off to continue their wanderings. 

“They are wonderfully trained,” Hannibal noticed, delicately pulling one of the bacon skewers off the toothpick with his teeth. “Do you ever find yourself with trouble?” 

Will picked up a skewer as well. “Trouble?”

“With training.” Hannibal met his eyes, a curious glint in his own as he took a sip of his wine. “I suppose dogs wouldn’t find it as hard to let themselves be trained, with a master like you.”

Will stared, breathing going quiet. 

“Will?” Abigail put a hand under his. “You’re about to drop your skewer.” 

“Huh? Oh. Thanks.” He dragged the food off the skewers quickly, forcing his eyes down to the blanket, and trying not to draw parallels. The task was impossible, of course. But the food was delicious, the weather was perfect, and the company couldn’t be beat, so he forced himself to relax, and not let himself be flustered by the not quite smile on Hannibal’s face. 

Abigail hummed after she finished one of the focaccia, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a wipe. “So, are you guys having a contest?”

“Contest?” Hannibal inquired, looking down when Winston nudged at his leg. The dog didn’t make a move for the food though, merely looking up at him imploringly. 

Barking up the wrong tree, Winston, Will thought to himself, lips twitching.

“You know, fishing contest. See who can catch the most?”

“Interesting. And what spoils will go to the winner?”

Abigail considered the question for hardly a second, before grinning. “They get to decide how to cook the fish.”

Hannibal’s face went relatively blank, determination firing in his eyes, as Will silently complimented Abigail on what might be the one incentive for the man to give fishing that old college try. 

“Sounds good to me,” Will agreed, and Hannibal’s curt nod added him in as well. Abigail’s grin grew wider.

Hannibal casually handed a bottle to Abigail. “Don’t forget your medicine.” 

The picnic was just enough food to ease their hunger without really being too filling, and it didn’t take off to polish everything off, down to the last crumb. Abigail finished eating first, getting up and drawing Winston away from Hannibal, who seemed determined to use puppy eyes to get the serial killing cannibal to let him have some of his home-cooked food. He silently wanted Winston not to get his hopes up.

“Come on boy! Come on!” Seeing Abigail running with the dog, the rest of the pack quickly joined in, jumping up playfully and nearly knocking the slender teen over. Will finished off his apple juice and watched the dogs run around, smiling when Buster came to get some attention from him with a tail wagging happily.

When he looked over to Hannibal, he saw him carefully packing up their lunches (or was it breakfast?), each item arranged perfectly in the basket to protect the contents. Hannibal noticed him watching after a moment, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

It had been two weeks since the mess at Muskrat farm. Abigail still couldn’t really fish, because of her hand, but seemed to be healing nicely (at least that’s what Hannibal said, and Will was inclined to trust his professional opinion), so he wasn’t worried. 

Some time to relax though, a picnic surrounded by just green and blue, they couldn’t deny her that. Will had been worried, but Abigail hardly seemed to care at all that she’d been kidnapped, just complaining ever so often about pain in her hand. Hannibal kept her well medicated, and it hadn’t been hard to fabricate a story, when kitchen knives were so very sharp.

Two weeks, and he still hadn’t really had a conversation with Hannibal about their kiss. There had been implications here and there in their words, as always, a touch here, on his back or shoulder, but that was hardly new. He didn’t know what the right words were, and Hannibal didn’t seem to intend on making it easy for him. Of course not. 

_“I think, since you made me wait so very long…”_

Will’s eyes couldn’t help but fall to Hannibal’s mouth, a shudder running through him as he recalled their kiss. When he managed to focus again, he noticed Hannibal watching him with a patient look on his face. “…You knew, didn’t you?” It was clear from the delight in Hannibal’s eyes he was precisely aware of what Will was talking about. Will let out a sigh, warmth lighting his neck and spreading down his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything?"

“I had rather hoped you would figure it out for yourself.” Hannibal continued to sip at his wine. “In my defense though, I did think my own intentions rather obvious.”

“Obvious,” Will repeated, giving Hannibal a dubious look. 

“Yes. Will Graham, considering all your training and wonderful empathy, you must be the most oblivious men I’ve ever met,” Hannibal announced. 

Will winced, resting his elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t that obvious.”

“It was pretty obvious.”

Will jumped when Abigail suddenly plopped down in her spot, giving him a teasing grin. He felt his cheeks heat, swallowing as he dragged his eyes down to the blanket.

 

Hannibal caught more fish than Will was expecting, but Will won the little contest by a fair margin. He considered suggesting a fish fry as a joke, but decided he wouldn’t torture Hannibal like that. 

Will got free reign of the fish, however, and Hannibal declared Abigail in charge of the seasonal vegetables he’d brought along, while Hannibal himself created a sauce. Whether it was for the veggies or the fish Will wasn’t sure, but he knew it’d be fantastic either way.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have her chopping vegetables with her hand like that?” Will asked, eyeing Hannibal next to him.

His kitchen was much smaller than Hannibal was probably used to, and they had to share stove space, Will doing what he could to make the fish as tasty as possible, and Hannibal adding all sorts of things Will didn’t even recognize to the pot on the other burner.

“Cruel? She will be bandaged for some time, she needs to learn how to work around it.” 

“Right.”

Delicious smells were quick to fill the kitchen as they worked, and once they all figured out how to move around each other to get what they needed, it felt rather homey. Domestic. Almost too domestic. Will waited until Abigail excused herself to go to the bathroom before cornering Hannibal with a look, wetting his lips nervously.

“Why did you say no, before? When I said we should be in a relationship?”

“That’s not what you said.” Hannibal addressed him with little more than a tilted head, eyes on the food. “You said we should ‘pretend’ to be in a relationship.”

Will blinked, turning his eyes back to the frying pan. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Hannibal agreed.

Will’s eyes darted to the hallway that led to the bathroom, and he inhaled, shifting over an inch, just close enough so the fabric of his shirt brushed Hannibal’s arms. “It probably wouldn’t really change anything,” he reasoned. 

“No,” Hannibal agreed again.

“We already see each other often. We know more about one another than anyone else does.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything to the contrary.

“Just a label,” Will continued.

“Just a label.”

Will turned his head, trying to read Hannibal’s profile. “Do you need that? A label?”

“Will. I need nothing more than what we already have.”

Will thought that might be true. Hannibal was content. He could read it in the lines of his face, the relaxed posture, his tone, his every action over the past few months. Hannibal was content, because Will had chosen him. He’d won. His game was over. “You want more, though,” Will said, quieter that time. 

Finally Hannibal turned, which brought their faces closer than Will thought he’d meant to. 

“So do you.”

Will didn’t deny it, and the heat that simmered between them did not come from the pot, nor the pan. He carefully flipped the filets of fish simmering in olive oil and butter, wetting his lips as he prepared what to say next. “So then? Is that that?”

Hannibal leaned forwards a little and inhaled deeply, paused, then added a pinch of salt to the pot. “I don’t know what you want if you don’t ask, Will.”

Insufferable, honestly. He really was going to make him say it. Will closed his eyes, admitting it wasn’t too unreasonable a request. 

_'…since you made me wait so very long…'_

How did Hannibal know so many things about himself before he even figured them out?

“Hannibal,” he started, because that seemed like a good place to begin, “Will you be my…” Partner? Significant other? Lover? It couldn’t be boyfriend. Nothing so mundane a term. 

Hannibal’s cell phone, vibrating on the table interrupted Will before he could finish. He wasn’t sure if he was more grateful or irritated at the interruption. 

Hannibal wiped his hands on his apron (he’d actually packed an apron, this guy), walking over and scooping up the phone after checking the caller ID. “Alana?” He said upon answering, and Will felt an ugly jealousy begin to curl in his stomach. He turned back to the pan, exhaling slowly. 

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and Will nearly jumped, surprised to see Hannibal behind him. He really could get around quick. Will turned, frowning. “What do you mean you’ll-”

“Mason Verger is dead.”

Will dropped his spatula, blinking incredulously. “Come again?”

Hannibal smiled faintly. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“Am I interrupting something?” 

The two of them turned to where Abigail was standing in the doorway, a terribly large grin on her face, and Will pursed his lips. “No, someone beat you to it. Mason is dead?” He asked, both because he couldn’t quite believe it, and to reiterate the situation to Abigail. 

Shock dropped across her face, before it was dragged away to reveal relief. Delight, even. Will turned back to Hannibal. 

“Yes. Margot killed him.”

“Why does Alana know this?” Will was too confused to take any joy in this news, even though Hannibal and Abigail had twin smiles on their faces. Eventually though, it proved rather infectious. 

“Because she helped her do it.”

Abigail let out a soft gasp, eyes twinkling. “Alana? Atta girl.”

“Indeed.”

Hannibal started stirring the pot again, resting a hand casually on his hip. 

There was one more thing Will didn’t understand, aside from the obvious. “You said you were going?” 

Hannibal nodded. “Of course Margot would tell Alana to call me. Who else would she turn to that could help her hide a body? Solidify her alibi?”

Abigail moved back to the cutting board, finishing up. “Do you think she’ll get away with it?”

“I wouldn't worry about that.”

Will looked between them. “…You said you were going. What are you doing?”

Abigail was the first to respond, lightly rolling her eyes. “I’m sure there’s time for dinner.”

“Mason is certainly not getting any deader,” Hannibal agreed.

Will took a moment longer to stare at the two, certain there had to be something wrong with the conversation they’d just had. Certainly there was something wrong with the warm feeling he got in his chest when Hannibal praised Abigail’s dicing, with the way he smiled as he went back to make sure the fish didn’t burn.

Every family had their issues, he mused, stepping back so Abigail could sprinkle onions into the pan.

 

 

“Hannibal,” Margot greeted them at the gate, breathless. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long. Abigail and I were in Wolf Trap.” 

Margot eyed them, arms folded tightly over her chest. “You brought Will,” she noted, and Hannibal smiled.

“I thought we could use an extra pair of hands. I’m so proud of you, Margot.”

There was a pause, where Margot stared with blank eyes at the space between Will and Hannibal, and then the faintest smile curved her lips. “Come on,” she said, turning and walking on steady legs further into the estate. “Alana is waiting. She’s hysterical.”

Will was hardly surprised by that news. He was a little surprised that she hadn’t called the police. 

They found Alana sitting in a chair in Mason’s room, shoulders trembling faintly. The rest of the estate was curiously empty. 

Mason’s room was even more opulent than Will expected. He wore his wealth rather tackily, Will thought, eying the old fashioned curves and swirls in the furniture, the chandelier hanging over the bed.

Mason Verger was floating face down in the fish tank sunk into the floor, broken glass spread around the body.

“Hey,” Margot said when she stepped into the room, walking closer and kneeling next to the dark-haired woman, wrapping a hand around her waist. Then she tilted Alana's head up and kissed her on the mouth.

Will blinked hard, sure his eyes had deceived him, but when he looked again Alana had her arms wrapped around Margot’s shoulders, taking deep breaths. 

Well. Even Hannibal looked faintly surprised, so Will reassured himself by noting it couldn’t have been that obvious. 

“Hannibal’s here,” Margot said against her lips. “He brought Will.”

Alana’s head jerked over, but she seemed to calm a moment later. “Will…” She swallowed, looking down. Guilt painted her face in broad strokes. “He… he was a monster. A pig. We didn’t mean to kill him, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. Please understand.”

Will took a step further. “It’s okay, Alana.”

“I was Margot’s therapist,” Hannibal said, a sad, resigned mask fit securely over his face. “I’m aware of what Mason did to her. I had hoped their relationship would improve, but having met Mason Verger before, I can safely say he was a sadist, who felt no remorse for any pain he caused. It was unlikely that would change.”

Alana ran a hand through her hair. She looked a mess. Her shirt was ripped, in more than one place, and a bruise had bloomed all across her collarbone. Her lip was split. Margot, in comparison, looked slightly more put together, but only just. Will had noticed she favored her right leg.

“Hannibal, Will,” Alana breathed. “I’m so sorry to drag you both into this.”

“Please.” Hannibal clasped his hands together, looking the perfect mix of uncomfortable and composed. “Tell us what happened.”

 

_“I found your surrogate, Mason.” Margot stepped into the room, fury glowing brighter at the sight of Mason in his bed, reading calmly. As if he hadn’t put her baby, her last chance at a child into the body of an animal. As if he hadn’t enjoyed waiting, watching her suffer, watching her squirm as she wondered, hoped._

_Mason looked up with as close to a smirk as his face got this days. “Did you?”_

_She wanted to wring his scrawny little neck. The only thing that stopped her was the feel of Alana’s hand on her arm, then the fingers twining between hers. A few tears fell from her eyes and she squeezed the woman’s hand tightly, grateful for her strength._

_Alana had cried for her, too._

_“How could you?” She knew how he could. She knew why he did. Mason liked watching her suffer. He got a perverse pleasure from it. That didn’t stop her from being horrified, from hating him all over again._

_“It’s your surrogate, Margot,” he said, almost like he was offended by the thought of her disliking it. “Told you I would give you a Verger baby.”_

_Margot stormed closer, letting Alana’s hand drop, unable to take the smug look on his face for one more moment._

 

Margot paused, glancing at Alana’s face. “I was angry. But I wasn’t going to kill him.” A lie. Will nodded anyway though, not caring about the facade they were all putting up for the sake of Alana Bloom’s remaining innocence. Perhaps it would fade, one day, but not today. “He pulled out a gun.”

Hannibal looked away. “It’s good that you defended yourself.”

Will stared at Mason’s body, feeling a sort of satisfaction at the way it didn’t move. Couldn’t say anything, couldn’t hurt Margot anymore, or Abigail, or anyone.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Margot and Alana were silent for a moment, and then the psychiatrist spoke first. “Because it wasn’t self defense.”

 

Will wondered if Hannibal had known this would happen. If he’d arranged things this way, somehow. 

When they’d worked out a plan, and finally called the police, the first thing the investigating officers found was a pile of bodies in one of the barns. They were at least two weeks old, men who’d worked for Mason, who had been killed execution style. The bullets were from Mason’s gun, and Mason’s DNA was found at the scene. 

Alana had no more qualms about his death after that.

Of course it hadn’t been Mason who killed them. Will was just glad Hannibal had resisted the urge to take any of their organs. That would have been a touch too suspicious, even with Jack gone. 

After Margot showed her scars, introduced Mason as an abusive older brother, and Alana claimed they’d been together the night all those men were killed, it had been almost too easy.

Alana was shaken up. Margot pretended to be. Will and Hannibal played the loyal, worried friends, and that was that. Mason Verger was dead and gone. 

Will really hadn’t needed to worry.

On the drive back to Baltimore, Will watched Hannibal closely. There would be further interviews, most likely, but everything had been wrapped up neatly for the police, every detail thought of and planned, as was Hannibal’s way. Admittedly impressive.

He couldn’t help feeling angry, though. “I didn’t realize how busy you’d been that night.”

“I saw an opportunity.”

“You did all that before you went to rescue Abigail?”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Mason was focusing his attentions on me. I knew she would be all right for a time. I also predicted, correctly, that Margot’s morals would get the better of her, and she’d go find Abigail on her own.”

Will sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But… jesus Hannibal, what if something had happened?”

“Something did happen,” he pointed out. “Nothing she couldn’t handle.”

It was pointless to argue. Hannibal would do what he thought was best, would take those sort of calculated risks. He cared, Will knew, but only as much as he could. Orchestrating Mason Verger’s downfall took precedence over stopping Abigail from having a mark permanently branded onto her flesh. 

Hannibal looked at him from the corners of his eyes. “Are you surprised?”

Will let out a breath. “No.”

“Are you upset with me?”

He considered. Will kept his gaze directed out the window, dragging his tongue across his lips as the thoughts swirled in his head. Shadows that took jagged form danced just out of sight. “No,” he decided. Hannibal’s luck would run out one day, he was sure, but he couldn’t be upset with him. Not when it was he who’d decided to let the man remain free. 

“But next time,” Will breathed, closing his eyes, “I want you to promise, Hannibal. I want you to promise that from now on, Abigail comes first. Our daughter comes first.” Abigail was their responsibility. Whether or not she considered them her fathers didn’t matter. Hannibal was supposed to keep her safe, and he couldn’t if he had other priorities.

He still wasn’t facing Hannibal, so he couldn’t see what emotions played out across his face, couldn’t even attempt to follow his thought process, and Will didn’t want to try. He just took in the silence, before Hannibal broke it.

“If that’s what you want. I promise."

Will let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “It is. It is.” It didn’t matter if he was holding the cards, or if Hannibal was merely allowing him too. Not so long as Hannibal meant those words. 

Will let himself turn, finally, unsurprised to see Hannibal’s face neutral and unreadable once more. Hannibal didn’t feel strongly either way. Somewhere, Will knew that was the only reason he’d agreed so easily. Will didn’t care.

“I believe you were going to ask me something, before we were interrupted by Alana.” Hannibal’s expression came alive, just slightly, lips shifting, like he was running his tongue over his teeth. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Do you still have a question for me?”

“I do.” He shouldn’t. He didn’t care about that, either. “Will you…” So which was it to be? No word quite fit. Until he thought of one that did, his fingers squeezing tightly at his knees. “Will you be mine?”

Hannibal smiled, turning his head to look at him, and they held each other’s eyes for as long as it was safe for Hannibal’s to be off the road. 

“Till death do us part,” he promised.

 

They arrived back at Hannibal’s house very, very late, or very, very early, depending on who you asked. Will startled awake when Hannibal laid a hand on his shoulder, sitting up quickly. His cheek was cold from where it had been pressed against the window.

“Mmh?” He queried, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“We’ve arrived.” Hannibal looked rather tired, himself. Will had fallen asleep watching the man drive, motionless, completely set in his task, face blank and unreadable. Dead eyes watching the road and nothing else. It was like being in a tank with a large shark, watching it swim restlessly around you, and knowing, with certainty, that it meant you no harm.

Will pushed open the car door and stumbled a little, rubbing his hands over his face. Abigail was probably asleep, already. They’d dropped her off on their way to Muskrat farm, more to spare Alana than Abigail the emotional distress. Will rather thought Abigail might have taken joy in seeing Mason dead.

The result of the detour, combined with the commute itself, meant they’d been driving around all day, not to mention assisting Margot and Alana with planning their ruse, and dealing with the subsequent questions from the police. Hannibal hadn’t once complained about being tired, but Will knew he had to be.

Will yawned again, following behind Hannibal as he stepped inside.

The house was dark, and quiet. Hannibal shrugged off his coat, took Will’s, and put both of them in some shadowy closet that Will couldn’t see in the low light. Neither of them bothered asking about sleeping arrangements, Will certainly wasn’t making the drive back to Wolf Trap, his car wasn’t even there. Perhaps less obvious was when he padded surely along behind Hannibal, not even a thought given to the guest room.

Hannibal let the jacket slide from his shoulders, putting every piece of fabric away in it’s proper place once he was done. Will in contrast let his clothes fall to the floor, yawning loudly and falling back on the bed once he was down to his underwear. He could feel the disapproving look on Hannibal’s face from all the way across the room, but was too tired to care.

“You seem comfortable,” Hannibal mused, stepping over. Now he was wearing soft looking pajama bottoms and nothing else. Will sat up and moved back so the covers could be turned down, indulging himself in tracing the lines of Hannibal’s torso with his eyes as he climbed into bed.

“I am comfortable. What is this, silk?” He asked, running his hands over the sheets. Hannibal regarded him, amused, as he sunk beneath the covers. Will’s eyes closed after that, but he heard the click of the light, and felt the bed shift as Hannibal climbed in as well. 

Will turned instinctively towards his warmth, letting out a sigh as the exhaustion caught up with him. “Good night, Hannibal.”

“Good night, dear Will.”

 

When Will opened his eyes it was still dark. He was on his side. In front of him he could feel gentle heat, the faintest brush of skin against his arm, and knew Hannibal’s back was to him. Perhaps it was the way he was breathing, or some sort of odd intuition, but he also knew Hannibal was awake. “Hannibal?” He said, quietly, even though Abigail probably couldn’t hear them from her room, even if they spoke normally.

“Will,” Hannibal returned. Will felt his lips curl, just a touch. He rolled onto his back, wondering what time it was. He felt Hannibal shift, and was suddenly filled with a need to make the man stay where he was. He rolled over again, finding Hannibal’s arm with his skin. 

The shifting, however, put him rather closer than intended. Will was embarrassed when he noticed his erection, now poking at Hannibal’s hip. He moved back. 

Hannibal tsked. “Have you been sexually frustrated lately, Will?”

Will bit his lip and tactfully avoided saying ‘because of you’, instead just falling back onto his back, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “Sorry.” 

Hannibal shifted onto his back as well. “There is no need for an apology,” he said, talking towards the ceiling. Will watched the barely visible line of his chest as it rose and fell. “If you are patient, I shall ease your frustrations.”

Will’s feet pointed helplessly towards the sheets at the words of promise, unable to help imagining what easing his frustrations would entail.

“You will beg me to,” he continued, sounding too nonchalant to be talking about sex, “and I will fulfill your desires.”

Will wanted to say he would not, would never beg, but he knew it would be a lie. He was lying on the bed, slightly sleepy, more than a little hypnotized by Hannibal’s voice, and he was already considering begging to ease the pressure. 

Had he been dreaming? Had he said Hannibal’s name? Will tensed, hips twitching up as he tried to calm.

“Hannibal,” he said, meant to be a warning, an insistence to stop, but it came out sounding needy.

“I should like to take you somewhere,” Hannibal mused, and Will wished he could better make out his expression in the darkness. “You and Abigail. A little getaway. That’s where I’ll have you.”

Will’s stomach tightened. “Have me?”

“We’ll have a lovely dinner, the three of us, and when we retire to our rooms, I think I’ll draw a bath for us to share.”

Warm water, the pleasant aroma of Hannibal’s body soap of choice, and the man himself, warm, pressed up against him, sharing space and breath. Will closed his eyes and let himself imagine, let himself fall into the pleasure of Hannibal’s words, riding the ups and downs of his tones like a comfortable wave washing over him. 

“I should like to wash your hair.” Fingers, strong, gentle, began carding through the curls on his crown, and Will shuddered lightly, pressing into the touch. “And the rest of you as well. Every inch of skin, because it belongs to me now. From your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your navel. The skin on the inside of your elbows, your hips, your ankles, I will leave no part unclaimed.”

There shouldn’t have been anything overtly sexual about the words, but Will’s overactive imagination could picture all too well the fingers currently gliding through his hair on his neck instead, light, wet touches, tracing around his throat. Hannibal could kill him then, easily, but he wouldn’t. The caresses would glide down to his shoulders, over his collarbone, lower, brushing over his pebbled nipples, lower still, teasing, touching everywhere but where he needed. 

Will was so hard he was starting to ache, now, fingers curling into the sheets, fighting the urge to touch. Hannibal had to know what he was doing. Had to hear his erratic breathing, the shifting of his hips, had to feel the way he shivered under his touch.

“I can smell your excitement,” Hannibal murmured, and Will swallowed, the muscles in his thighs tensing. “I could smell it in the hospital, too. What made you so desperate for touch that you sat leaking in my room?”

Shame washed over Will at the memory, at the idea that Hannibal had sat there, knowing how aroused he was, probably amused. That shouldn’t have made his cock twitch, shouldn’t have made even more dampness bleed into his boxers, but it did, and Will stifled a gasp, sitting up. 

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t take it. 

A hand on his wrist stopped his retreat, and he looked back, nothing but the faint outline of Hannibal’s body visible, spread out on the sheets. 

“Tell me, Will.” 

Fuck. “You,” he croaked, shuddering, turning his wrist in Hannibal’s grip to feel skin. “You know it was you.”

“You denied your true nature for so long I was unsurprised you denied this too.” Will heard Hannibal inhale deeply, heard the blankets shift. “Denied me. Your body betrayed you, though. So eager you were, drawing so close, so close but never touching, always pulling away, always making excuses, hoping I remained ignorant. I thought you meant to drive me mad.” Hannibal’s voice faltered, at the end, and Will’s hips rocked forward, a strained noise leaving his mouth. The grip on him weakened, and Will snatched Hannibal’s wrist instead, pinning it to the bed.

“God Hannibal,” he gasped, and scrambled to capture the mouth that spoke such tantalizing words with his own. He missed at first, lips pressing against Hannibal’s cheek, then his jaw, a shiver running through him when he heard the man gasp. 

Will needed to be closer, twisting, pressing, exhaling shakily as he pressed their bodies together, settling between powerful thighs. Those thighs spread to make room for him, and Will groaned, the noise quickly getting lost inside Hannibal’s mouth.

Involuntarily he rocked forward, fitting himself firmly in the cradle of Hannibal’s hips. It got a little hard to breathe when he felt the evidence of Hannibal’s arousal in his sleep pants, kissing the man harder. 

Teeth bit into his upper lip, hard, and when Will parted his mouth to gasp, Hannibal’s tongue darted inside. They kissed like this, messy, a touch too rough, warm sighs and wet slides and Will began to leak freely into his underwear with every tentative twitch of his hips. 

Hannibal’s arm wrapped around him, holding him securely in place, fingers dragging claim marks into his skin. 

But Hannibal’s other arm, the one Will had pinned against the bed didn’t move, didn’t even twitch, and Will pressed harder, just to see if Hannibal might try to resist. When he did not Will released him, panting shakily at the rush of arousal that flooded him. 

“You want to control me,” Hannibal murmured, “the idea thrills you. You enjoy knowing what I’d let you get away with. Go ahead, Will, you won’t know what I’d do for you if you don’t ask.”

“Fuck. Fuck, Hannibal, I need you to touch me.” Will’s cock throbbed painfully at the very idea, and he pulled away, wishing he could see the man’s face. He’d already left him wanting once. “Please.”

The word had barely left his mouth before he felt Hannibal’s hand press against his stomach, finger dipping into the indent of his navel. Will shuddered, pulling back a little to give the man more access. Then Hannibal slipped his fingers into Will’s boxers. 

Will cursed, muscles tensing, teeth digging hard into his cheek. For a moment, he thought he might come right then, with Hannibal’s hand just wrapped around his cock, squeezing lightly. Hannibal’s thumb swirled over the head, using the pre-cum steadily leaving him and giving his cock one long stroke, slow enough to make him pant, claw at the sheets. “Hannibal,” he croaked, thrusting into the touch. 

He felt Hannibal stiffen beneath him, heard his breath hitch, evening out a second later. Will wasn’t sure when he made the conscious decision, but in the next moment he had his hand stuffed down the front of Hannibal’s pajamas, palm dragging over the hot length inside. Hannibal’s knees rose around him, he squirmed, and Will thought he saw his head tip back.

Hannibal began pumping him in earnest, and Will shuddered at the sparks of electricity this sent running through him, groaning as each pass up and down dragged a few more beads of pre from his head. He was already so close. 

He redoubled his efforts on Hannibal’s cock, hand sliding down further to fondle his sack, wondering if this should feel stranger. It was far too intoxicating for him to be able to focus on anything more than he was, air getting harder to come by by the second.

“Hannibal… Hannibal- nnh, I’m- gonna… I can’t, Hannibal, Hannibal-”

“ _Will_.” 

Will’s eyes snapped open at the groan of his name, startled when Hannibal’s cock pulsed in his hand, a rush of fluid filling his palm. It took only half a second to understand what had happened, and his own orgasm followed immediately after, despite the way Hannibal’s grip had loosened as he reached his peak. Will shuddered as he spilled onto the other’s chest, hips straining forward, head dropping down and finding Hannibal’s shoulder. 

The sound of their heavy breathing cut into the otherwise silent room and hung suspended in the air, seeming to cover them like a blanket. 

Will could feel his body start to cool. He swallowed, forcing his eyes open, wetting his lips. 

He felt Hannibal move beneath him, and then had to squint when the bedside lamp turned on. 

Hannibal looked disheveled. His lips were kiss swollen, eyes hooded and sleepy. Will felt a lingering twinge of arousal run through him, and tried for a smile.

Hannibal tilted his head. “That was unexpected.”

Will snorted. “You knew what you were doing.”

“I thought I would have more self control.”

They used the tissues and wet wipes Hannibal kept in his nightstand to clean them both off, and Will reluctantly slid off the man to return his personal space. He felt rather boneless. Enough so that when the lamp finally shut off he was almost dozing again, lying much closer than he had before.

Will felt a hand on his face, cradling his cheek.

“The things you do to me,” Hannibal murmured into the night.

Will’s lips twitched, warmth curling in his chest. “The things you let me do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of buildup around the alana, margot and mason subplot, but it wasn’t really their story, so I wanted to focus on our lovely murder family


	15. Accepting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was sustainable after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! Thank you so much for reading, I'm very happy with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy! This whole story still isn't beta'd, so I'll probably go over it over the next couple days and fix all the mistakes I'm sure there are.

"You've never played punch buggy?"

Hannibal pressed his lips together, staring out at the road ahead, filled with cars. It wasn't the warmest day, but the lack of clouds made the inside of Hannibal's Bentley feel toasty. 

Will pressed a hand over his mouth and pretended to cough, to cover up the laughter that wanted to break free at replaying the sight of Abigail socking Hannibal in the arm in his head. 

"No, I have not. I am not, in fact, certain it's even a real game."

Abigail was giggling, and Will tried not to join her, but it was infectious. A grin curled his lips, and Hannibal shot him a look that seemed to say 'traitor'. 

"It is," she insisted. 

"Well perhaps you might play with Will, instead of assaulting me while I drive."

Will and Abigail laughed like children while Hannibal gave the both of them a cross look.

The day was still rather young, but Hannibal had assured him that it would be well into night by the time they arrived at their destination. Will still didn't know what that destination was. Abigail did, and had apparently even been there before. He assumed this was back when she was still ‘dead’.

Hannibal had a weekend free of patients, Will had no former obligations, and Abigail still hadn't applied to any schools, so it hadn't taken much for them to decide to get away. 

Will wouldn't admit that Hannibal's arguments for the trip, said to him in low tones between soft sheets had a big hand in convincing him. 

Sometimes, he still sat back and marveled over the fact that they'd gotten away with it. Hannibal probably would have continued on as the Chesapeake Ripper without ever having his plans messed with had he not tried to confide in Will. Instead he'd gotten closer, knowing that Will would see through him eventually.

Now they were vacationing together.

Abigail's expression turned cheeky. "What about a song? We could all sing a nice driving song to keep you focused on the road."

"I'd prefer the radio," Hannibal deadpanned. 

“21 questions?” Will suggested, since Abigail seemed intent on playing road games. 

“Me first,” the teen insisted, sitting back in her seat, and Hannibal said ‘if you must.’

Abigail’s first round was ended prematurely when the question of ‘are you human’ was answered with ‘not according to some people’, and Will guessed Hannibal as a joke, but ended up being right.

Halfway through Will’s third turn Hannibal turned on the radio. 

After a while, Abigail fell into a doze with earphones blocking her contact with the outside world, and Will was hard pressed not to follow. The only thing stopping him was his want to keep Hannibal company, even though he knew the man didn’t need it to remain focused on the road.

“Still not going to tell me where we’re going?” He murmured, head pressed back against his seat. 

“Do you have something against surprises, Will?” Hannibal sounded amused.

Will laughed a little, sliding down in his seat and resting his hands on his thighs. Inadvertently, his attention was drawn to Hannibal’s legs, imagining what might happen if he’d tried putting a hand there, instead. 

Not the time, he told himself, and definitely not the place.

“You really haven’t heard of punch buggy?” 

“Barbaric.”

“This coming from you?” They shared a brief laugh, and then Will sighed, his head falling against the window. 

“You may rest, if need be,” Hannibal said. “I’ll wake you up when we stop.”

“I am a little drowsy.” He was out cold seconds later.

 

_“Hannibal,” Will greeted, feeling rather flustered. “Come in. Uh, your coat, I’ll uh…” He didn’t have any hangers prepared, and was rather irritated at himself, having wanted the evening to go as smoothly as he was capable of._

_Hannibal’s face was blank as he shrugged his jacket off, but Will could tell he was smiling. “I apologize for being late, traffic was worse than I accounted for.”_

_Will shook his head, taking Hannibal’s jacket and draping it awkwardly over a chair, hoping that was acceptable. “No no, you’re right on time.” Indeed, he was twenty minutes late, but that was hardly any time at all. Will hadn’t even gotten nervous that he wouldn’t come. Well, he’d only been a little nervous, at any rate._

_Inviting Hannibal to dinner had felt far bolder than it should have, considering how often the man had him over. This wasn’t a gathering of their friends, though, or even an assembly of their odd little family, since Abigail wasn’t here._

_No, they both knew why Will had asked Hannibal to come, alone, and Will had already sweated through one shirt before Hannibal arrived worrying himself about it. “Dinner’s ready.” Will’s voice came out small, taking in the gorgeously tailored lines of Hannibal’s suit, the neat way his hair was slicked back. He’d tried to dress nicely, but, as always, Hannibal had outdone him._

_The dogs were used to Hannibal, but that didn’t stop them from wandering over to greet him, pressing against his legs and coating his suit pants in dog hair. Will considered calling them off, but decided it was a good look on the doctor._

_They moved into the room that held his dining table, a piece of handmade furniture he was rather proud of, their plates and two glasses of a wine he knew Hannibal favored resting atop it._

_“It smells delicious,” Hannibal said, tilting his head as he took in the meals._

_Will ran a hand through his curls. “Well, I’m sure you’ve prepared better meals just killing time, but…”_

_Hannibal’s eyes met his, a smile twitching at the doctor’s lips. “Don’t sell yourself short, Will. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” He sat down, unbuttoning his suit coat as he did. The motion drew Will’s attention down, and he debated playfully pushing in the other’s chair for him a moment too long before Hannibal scooted in himself._

_“Fresh fish, glazed with the Graham family’s famous ‘secret sauce’ on a bed of rice, served with mixed seasonal vegetables,” Will announced like Hannibal might as he joined the other at the table. “Bon apetit.”_

_Despite knowing that the meal wasn’t up to Hannibal’s usual standard, he still held his breath and watched when the doctor took his first bite, taking in the fluttering of his eyelashes, the way his lips stretched around the fork. “Lovely,” came the verdict a moment later, and Will smiled._

_He began eating himself, but now that the initial nervousness of presenting his meal had faded, his mind unhelpfully wandered to the subject of what would be happening after dinner. Or at least, what he hoped would happen. Will tried to push these thoughts away, but looking at Hannibal, watching his mouth as he ate, tongue occasionally flicking against the silverware was of no help._

_It was quite possible Hannibal was encouraging a certain train of thought, too. Will cleared his throat, eyes wandering towards the ceiling as he grew hot under the collar. “What’s Abigail up to this evening?” He asked smoothing a hand over one of his thighs._

_“I believe she intended to go out with Margot and Alana.”_

_Will nodded. “Good. I mean, that she’s not… by herself. I felt a little bad dragging you away from her.”_

_Hannibal’s eyebrows raised faintly. “I don’t believe she minded.”_

_Will wondered what embarrassing thing Abigail had said to Hannibal before he left the house, almost positive it would have made the psychiatrist wrinkle his nose as he stepped out the door. She was… rather enthusiastic about their new relationship, Will found._

_Quite evident by the “About time.” She’d muttered when Hannibal had discretely kissed him goodbye once, sending Will’s cheeks flaming while Hannibal pretended she hadn’t spoken._

_“Good, good.”_

_Hannibal regarded him between bites. His very presence seemed to brighten up Will’s dull, middle-of-nowhere home, adding splashes of color and patterns that didn’t quite seem like they should be placed together, ever, but looked some sort of delicious on Hannibal._

_Will tried not to stare at Hannibal like he was edible, finishing off his rice._

_“You look nervous, Will.”_

_“Nervous?” Will retorted to by himself time, attempting a casual air that he knew he couldn’t pull off._

_“Yes.” Hannibal paused, taking another bite of fish. “And preoccupied.”_

_Will shrugged, fork scraping against his plate as he missed it’s intended target._

_“The candles are a nice touch,” Hannibal said almost out of nowhere, smiling lightly at the flickering flames. Will hadn’t ever thought lit hunks of wax were particularly romantic, but it seemed like something Hannibal might enjoy, for atmosphere’s sake. “Do you intend for me to spend the night?”_

_The words made it feel like he’d been hit with a gust of hot air. “Er, if you… I mean I wouldn’t be against it.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Hannibal was enjoying his suffering, he was positive._

_“What do you want?”_

_Will looked up and met the other’s eyes, going still at the promise written plainly in them. Hannibal looked perfectly composed, but something in his expression made Will feel even warmer, and he swallowed helplessly, shifting in his seat._

_“I want you to spend the night.”_

_Hannibal nodded his head in assent, and then went back to his food, perfectly poised. Will continued eating, but despite his best efforts couldn’t redirect his attention, embarrassed to find himself slowly hardening in his seat._

_The rest of the meal was spent talking about other things, mundane things, but it was useless to ignore the heat scrabbling for freedom under his sleeves, toes flexing in his socks every time they locked eyes._

_When Hannibal took his last bite, Will’s hips canted forwards, and he finished off his wine quickly._

_“Thank you for dinner,” Hannibal said cordially, sitting back in his seat._

_“Anytime,” Will promised, hands falling to his lap._

_Hannibal stood, and Will stood, and saw Hannibal’s eyes drop down. It would be impossible for him not to notice the bulge straining in his slacks, but Hannibal gave no indication that he had. His eyes flickered back up._

_“Shall I wash the dishes?”_

_“Later.” Will closed the distance between them, barely noticing when he knocked his thigh on the table._

_He might have been embarrassed by his eagerness, but Hannibal’s arms opened to meet him, tongues immediately tangling. Hannibal’s mouth was hot and sweet as wine, and Will couldn’t stop tasting, running his hands underneath the man’s suit coat, feeling all up his back, and then lower, lower still, until he could grab his ass with both hands._

_Hannibal let out a little grunt, and Will sucked in a breath, pushing him back into his chair._

_Hannibal looked up at him, briefly startled, and Will clambered into the older man’s lap, pressing his mouth just underneath Hannibal’s jaw and sucking._

_Hands slid up his thighs, over his waist, thumbs hooking into the band and tugging suggestively. It was enough to make Will groan, hips canting forward. Hannibal was just as hard as he was, just as lost, if the little noises he seemed unaware of were any indication._

_Will’s hand fumbled briefly at the front of Hannibal’s trousers, biting his lip when he managed to get them undone, dragging Hannibal’s underwear down, unable to help staring. He hadn’t seen Hannibal like this, hadn’t been able to watch the expressions on his face the last time, had to be satisfied with moans in the dark._

_This time he could see. He could see the lust and adoration in Hannibal’s gaze, the way his lips parted to allow for deeper breathing. He dragged his palm over the head, and Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut, throat working as he swallowed._

_“Will. As I am not leaving, might I suggest we head to the bedroom?”_

_Will continued fondling, rubbing, caressing, unmoved by the words, watching Hannibal squirm and fall apart underneath him. “No,” he said after a moment, mouth dry, “Here. I want you to ruin your shirt.”_

_Hannibal’s eyes opened enough to stare at him, and Will groaned as his restrained cock throbbed, dropping his head against Hannibal’s shoulder. He breathed Hannibal’s name into the man’s skin as he worked him over, relishing in ever tense muscle, the way Hannibal’s fingers dug into his thighs, fighting and losing a battle for self control._

_At one whispered ‘Hannibal’, Will felt the other jerk, pre slicking his fingers._

_Will heard the plates scraping across wood, and let out a yelp when Hannibal lifted him with surprising strength, falling back onto his elbows, now splayed across the table. He panted as Hannibal undid the front of his slacks, pulling his underwear down just far enough. A groan of relief escaped him, elbows feeling a little week._

_“Hannibal,” he managed, “The table might not support my weight…”_

_“I shall have to be quick, then.”_

_Will felt paralyzed at the sight of Hannibal’s head moving down, seeing his tongue come out to wet the soft skin on his lips. He twitched at the sight, afraid he might come before they’d even gotten started, thighs trembling when Hannibal spread them to make room._

_The first lick to the sensitive skin of his cock made Will collapse, his arm landing in one of their plates. He couldn’t care about the mess, hips straining for more. Hannibal licked him base to head in one long, slow swipe, then pulled away, leaving Will a shuddering mess. He repeated the action once, then a second time, and Will could hardly breathe. “Dammit, Hannibal, stop…”_

_“Stop?” Hannibal teased, and Will could still feel his breath, mouth so close to where he needed it to be. He was so hot, itching to get out of his clothes._

_“You know what I mean.” Will struggled with his tie, biting his lips and rocking his hips up, trying to get more._

_Hannibal hummed, and Will jerked when he felt fingers trace down over his stomach, rubbing the intimate spaces where thigh joined hip. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”_

_Will managed to get his tie off, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Your mouth, put your mouth on me, god Hannibal.”_

_Immediately after the words were said the head of Will’s cock was surrounded by heat, and wet, and he gasped, bucking up. He whimpered when Hannibal made no other move immediately after, desperate for “More,” Will gasped, mouth hanging briefly open when another inch slid into the wet orifice. “More… oh, fuck, more, all of it, can you…? Nngh.”_

_Hannibal was a man of many talents, but Will wondered if it wasn’t just sheer determination that allowed him to fit the entirety of Will’s cock in his mouth, tongue pressing burning patterns into the shaft._

_Will groaned, hands flying out to grab Hannibal’s hair. “Yes… suck me, harder, nnhhh- your- head, bob your… head.”_

_Hannibal followed his instructions to the letter, and Will wouldn’t deny the rush of arousal that left him dizzy wasn’t entirely because of Hannibal’s mouth. He jerked his hips up, fucking the orifice Hannibal offered in tiny motions, struggling not to choke the man._

_“Your tongue,” he gasped, coming apart at the seams, “use your- oh shit, oh, Hannibal-” Will tensed, startled at how close to the edge he was, writhing in place. “Hannibal, I’m— I’m gonna- you- it’s—” His stammering was cut off with a cry from the force of his orgasm, hips thrusting into Hannibal’s mouth with wild abandon, heat deliciously drained out of him until he was left panting and spent against the table._

_“Fuck,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath._

_He heard Hannibal cough lightly, and was dimly aware of hands all over his waist and hips, his legs, caressing him with loving touches. “Yes,” Hannibal said after a moment, and it took Will a second to connect the dots._

_Will felt boneless but didn’t need any more incentive than that to get to the bedroom, aroused by the sight of Hannibal’s cock straining upwards, dripping a steady stream of pre all over his expensive clothing._

_Hannibal prepared him thoroughly, finding his prostate as easily as any doctor, would, and teasing it until Will was hard again, leaking against his stomach, so close to just yelling at him to get on with it already._

_They touched and kissed with such desperation, such need, that Will wasn’t all together expecting the tender way Hannibal thrust inside. The look on Hannibal’s face as they moved together made him warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the sex, and when Hannibal came, shuddering, pressed tight against him, Will knew he hadn’t imagined the three words whispered against his skin._

 

Will woke from the dream, the memory, to find himself staring at rows and rows of trees. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, swallowing, glancing over at Hannibal as something warm curled in his chest. 

“Good morning,” Abigail said in a singsong voice, and Will smiled, glancing back at her. If she noticed when he laced his fingers through the ones Hannibal had casually resting on his leg, she didn’t say anything.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

 

The house they pulled up to was gorgeous. Will stared at the sleekly modern building, eyes tracing up the floor to ceiling glass windows, the steep angle of the roof. 

Abigail yawned as Hannibal parked the car, popping open the door. When they all stepped out, Will could smell the sea.

“Can you handle the groceries by yourself?” Hannibal was a sight, the crashing ocean waves and the setting sun behind him, his profile glowing with fading rays, silver blonde hair practically sparkling. Will couldn’t help but wonder if he was guilty of rose-tinted lenses when looking at Hannibal, after all.

Will nodded, lips curling. “Yeah, you two go on inside.” 

Hannibal returned the smile with an unrestrained one of his own, looming closer and setting the car keys in Will’s hand while Abigail made her way into the house, muttering something about the bathroom. Will watched her grab the key from under a rock by the door.

The gentle sound and smell of the ocean filled Will’s senses as their lips met. Hannibal nibbled on his lower lip, brushing his tongue just inside his mouth. Will leaned forward for more, but Hannibal pulled away, teasing. 

Will sighed, dragging a hand over Hannibal’s back. “It’s beautiful here.”

“I thought you would like it.” Hannibal guided him towards the cliff edge, their arms around one another. Will thought to himself that it would be so easy to go over the edge and tumble into the sea. “The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was last here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass.”

Will gave him an amused look, wondering just how many locations Hannibal had that no one else knew about. “Now you're here with me.”

Hannibal’s hand squeezed his hip. “And the bluff is still eroding.You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlantic. Soon all of this will be lost to the sea.” Hannibal quieted, eyes glowing red in the light, calmly observing the horizon. 

Will leaned into Hannibal, feeling a sort of contentment wash over him. Eventually his eyes turned from nature and found the man, tracing over a strong jaw, the curve of his mouth. A short sigh fell from his nose.

“Will?”

“Nothing.” He laid one last kiss on Hannibal’s cheekbone, before turning back to the car. “You head inside, I’ll be right there.” 

Hannibal nodded his acquiescence, and slipped in through the door Abigail had left open.

Will watched him go for a moment, before turning to the car, popping the trunk with a press of the button.

 _Maybe_ , he mused to himself as he flipped the hood up farther, _some beasts weren’t meant to be caged._

Will stared down at the woman lying still inside the trunk just long enough to work out the best way to lift her, grunting a little under her weight, slight as it was, red curls falling into her face.


End file.
